


Albatross

by KitLaBelle



Series: Hell Hath No Fury [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teen Wolf (TV) Fusion, BAMF John Silver, Banshees, Dom/sub Undertones, Emissaries, F/F, F/M, Female John Silver, Fix-It of Sorts, Hunters & Hunting, John Silver is a Little Shit, M/M, Many Other Mythological Creatures, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, POV John Silver, Pack, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rule 63, Slow Build, Sparks, Taking Liberties With History, Werewolf Captain Flint | James McGraw, Werewolves, Witches, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23472325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitLaBelle/pseuds/KitLaBelle
Summary: As a man, Silver would have changed the world to suit Flint’s obsessive need for revenge and only stopped when that fire threatened to burn all else that Silver held dear.As a woman… well.
Relationships: Anne Bonny/"Calico" Jack Rackham, Eleanor Guthrie/Charles Vane, Eleanor Guthrie/Max, pre Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Series: Hell Hath No Fury [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688605
Comments: 16
Kudos: 36





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Three reasons and an excuse:
> 
>  **One** ; Flint would make a glorious fucking werewolf and I just couldn’t help myself once that idea became concrete.
> 
>  **Two** ; Silver and Argent was too close for me _not_ to take advantage of.
> 
>  **Three** ; despite Silver’s enigmatic lack of background, his entire story centers around Flint and Silver for a reason – there would be no Long John Silver without Captain Flint, though apparently there would be a Captain Flint without Silver, just with a much more bloody, tragic and gruesome end. And while the love between Silver and Flint is apparent without the erotic undertones, and even with the physical love between Hamilton and McGraw as evidence of Flint’s ability to ignore societal mores, Flint is not McGraw and, despite Silver being a lying, thieving version of Hamilton without background or stature, I have no doubt in my mind that even if Silver were to love Flint amorously he would never have the courage to tarnish, what he knows in his mind, would be the reason for Flint’s _entire existence_ without one or the both of them becoming hopelessly OOC. So I made Silver a woman.
> 
>  **My excuse** ; as a woman, trained to lead like an Argent, during that time in the world where polite society would not approve of a woman in leadership, in a place where she would not only have to hide her sex but her entire knowledge of the supernatural, Silver, fed up with being oppressed at every turn and finally free in Nassau, would have no problem absolutely fucking with Flint’s ability to perceive a _One True Love_ and shove her way, clawing, kicking and screaming into Flint's mind to carve a place for herself there when she had no where else in the world that made her feel safe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I may have binge watched _Black Sails_ during quarantine and this bug crawled up my ass and would not come out. I had every intention of working on _Jupiter Ecliptic_ but Silver was just too fucking persuasive. That bitch.
> 
> Also. This chapter is mostly set-up so it runs along the same lines as the first episode with very little difference. Bear with me. We'll get there.

“ _With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled._ ” – The Ancient Mariner; Part I

* * *

**_1715 – West Indies_ **

She stood at the taffrail of the merchant ship and listened to the slide of water along the hull. Just called up from a stint washing down the galley, an ache throbbed through every muscle in her body. She swiped the sweat from her brow and ignored the discomfort, concentrating instead on the waves ahead. She was standing there brooding about her life when she became aware of a sudden flurry of activity going on about her. Seamen were running by, canvas was being piled on, the _Fair Carolina_ had come about and was suddenly scudding over the sea in the opposite direction.

She looked about her in bewilderment. There was hardly a cloud in the sky. Could they actually be running back to the Virginia coast?

“What is happening?” she called to the heavy-set man who’d been boss and ship’s cook for the last few days.

He hesitated, then turned away from the quarterdeck to join her at the rail. He nodded behind them. “Did ye not see them? I’m told they’ve trailed us from the last port but have gained on us in the last hour. Too much.”

She turned and studied the horizon. There, in the distance bobbed the sails of a large ship.

“What will happen if they catch up?” she asked nervously.

The heavy man turned ruddy cheeks to the horizon with a troubled look. “Our captain is not one to stay and find out.”

_“Black!”_

* * *

_“What ya doing?”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“Why aren’t you on deck wit’ the crew?”_

_“Doing what? I’m just a cabin boy. At most I’d be in the way.”_

_“Well ye can’t hide here, boy.”_

_“And who’s going make me leave? You? I like my chances.”_

* * *

With a single cry, the tension on board the small merchant ship seemed to come to a boiling point. Every man knew in his bones that this could very well be the end of them. Each and every pair of eyes followed Captain Parish made his way to the rails and viewed the horizon through the spyglass.

She had heard of the terrible things pirates did when they caught a prize. Tales of terror and maiming – of ears cut off, of floggings, and of passengers who were dragged off to become slaves or worse. But she was young and she could not believe they would be so unlucky. And anyway the wind was strong and the pirates had advanced only a little through the morning. But they were now close enough that by squinting she could see for herself the black flag flying at their stern.

“A single broadside would sweep us from the sea,” she heard one of the passing seamen mutter. “I’ve put my most valuable papers in my boots. Have you?”

“Yes, but little good ‘twill do,” came the companion’s reply. “They’ll steal the boots.”

And then, without warning it seemed, a single shot was fired across their bow.

She ran.

* * *

_“You know who that is out there? That ship flies the banner of Captain Flint.”_

_“Isn’t this your problem, too?”_

_“Good cooks are in short supply, even for criminals. But you? Cowering below decks, dodging a fight? Even boys they’ll gut for sport.”_

* * *

Not long later, after the thunder of cannon had stilled, and the terror of boots on the deck and screams had slowed and the sounds of men about, digging through everything outside the only barrier lying between herself and the pirates, the door was battered down and a single man with a pistol, not a slavering monster hungry for her blood, came through the settling dust. She raised her hands.

“Hello.”

The man stepped forward and noticed the body on the floor.

* * *

_“Gimme that!”_

_“What is that?”_

_“It’s nothing.”_

_“That doesn’t seem like nothing. Or maybe when Captain Flint gets here we can let him decide?”_

_“You wouldn’t wanna do that.”_

_“Oh? Why not?”_

* * *

She shrugged, still not lowering her hands. “He couldn’t handle the thought of what you might do to him. I,” she stepped over the body and smiled at him. “On the other hand would very much like to join your crew.”

The man lifted a brow and she tried a last ditch effort. “My name is John Silver, and I happen to be a very good cook.”

The man lowered his gun at last and snorted. “How old are you, boy?”

She shrugged again, unsure just how old she looked as a boy with shorn hair and a soft chin, despite the dirt she’d rubbed on her cheeks. “Old enough to cook?”

“Fifteen? Sixteen?” The man continued. “What were you, cabin boy?”

“I helped in the galley,” she continued, trying to deepen her scream roughened voice. “And I do know how to cook.”

The man sighed and turned to look over his shoulder at the white painted black man who’d helped him knock the door down.

The black pirate shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to have someone who actually cooks something other than potatoes.”

The man sighed and looked up as though beseeching the heavens. “Come on.”

She followed, trying to ignore the weight of the leather roll in her pocket.

The man introduced himself as Hal Gates, Quartermaster – “That’s second mate, boy, and in charge of everything the Captain can’t be arsed to worry about. Got it?”

She nodded, ignoring the stares of pirates and crewmen alike as Gates led her to another man bare-chested and smeared with charcoal who introduced himself as Billy ‘Bones’ Mandalay, ship’s boatswain – “That means I’m in charge of the men, their schedules, their safety, their jobs. Your job is to get the mess together at every six bells. Don’t be late. Randall? Randall! Got you a helper!”

Silver settled into prepping salted pork, slicing potatoes, crumbling goat cheese and peeling oranges so that the men who’d been on vanguard – “That’s them wot stormed your ship, boy. Don’t you know nothing?” – could eat before they hit landfall in the early afternoon. She took a minute between peeling and prepping to unwrap the leather roll and find out just what the cook had been secreting. It was a single folded sheet of fine parchment paper torn from what look like a book of some kind. On it, written in hurried but legible scribble, looked like time and places along the gulf jotted down in order. A schedule? For what? And why in hell would this be worth killing over?

A cry of _“Land ho!_ ” had her up and out of the galley. As she stood gawking at her first sight of Nassau, Billy caught her arm.

"Go with Logan here, and help unload the longboats into the warehouse. Logan! Got you a helper!”

She sighed.

Logan was an easy sort to get along with, with simple desires – “My sweet Charlotte. Oh, her breasts, Silver, you’ll have to see!” – and simple, but enlightening conversation. She learned all about the Guthrie enterprise in Nassau; taking illegitimate ill-gotten goods and selling them at cost to overseers paid to look the other way for their effort throughout the colonies. A very lucrative little side business for the dishonored son of a legitimate shipping empire. It was while unloading the goods that she noticed the page in her possession matched the size and type of those in the Captain’s logs, only three of the four of which were among the goods handed into the Guthrie’s keeping. The fourth, according to a Mr. Dufresne, the ship’s bookkeeper, would most likely be found back on the _Walrus_ in her Captain’s cabin.

Which was-

“Is that him?”

Silver twisted around to find Logan coming up the path along with a stringy, greasy man with a twisted smile on his face.

“Is this necessary?” Logan asked, looking nervous. “He’s just a cabin boy.”

“He meets the new ones,” the greasy man uttered, looking pleased. “No exceptions.”

“Um. What’s going on?” She swallowed when her voice cracked. “Who wants to meet me?”

Logan stared. “Blackbeard.”

_-shit._

Before she knew what was really happening, she was being dragged by Logan, and the greasy man named Noonan to what appeared to be a brothel on first look, second and third. “Blackbeard’s here?”

Logan shrugged. “He likes his women. Married seven time, you know.”

It was nine last she’d heard. But she’d also heard that Blackbeard had left Nassau years ago and now made his home on a island near North Carolina called Ocracoke. So who really knew with pirates? When she realized that it was a joke inspired by the men to ‘initiate’ and make the cabin ‘boy’ a cabin ‘man’ she felt both relief and more tension because, well. _Whores._

Before she knew what was up, they’d shoved her onto the bed and started stripping off her clothes.

“Uh, ladies, n- _no!_ ” She actually squeaked when one of them shoved their hand down the back of her trousers. Her vest was divested and tossed aside, along with the leather scroll and she felt herself begin to panic as talented fingers began undoing the shirt’s lacings. She danced back upright off the bad and out of their hands, holding her own up to ward them off. “No… not-“ she swallowed at the shrewd look from one of the whores. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer-”

“It’s not an offer, _mon cher,”_ the whore with the shrewd eye crooned. “You’re ours and there are rules.”

“And I said no,” She said, more firmly as she shrugged her remaining clothes back into place.

“Are you virgin, _mon petit chou?”_ the whore twittered, making the other whores chuckle with greedy enthusiasm. “We’ll be gentle with you.”

“No, thank you,” Silver insisted, shuffling sideways and trying to get at her vest and the scroll without making it look like she was desperate for it.

The whore who wore the ‘beard’ scoffed, “Are you bent?”

Her head came up. “What?”

“You like men, then?” the first whore asked, a sharp look at her compatriot silencing the affront. “A delicate looking boy like you, like it rough instead of soft?”

Silver tried not to growl. That was just what she needed; the whores telling all and sundry that the soft-looking cabin boy liked it hard from behind by men. She be stripped and raped before the night fell. Biting back a sigh, she deliberately fidgeted, making herself look the nervous youngling.

“Not- no,” she stuttered. “Just… one? Or two maybe? I don’t- um…”

The first whore grinned and stepped forward. “Too many for you to handle yet? Let Max make you more comfortable then.” She gestured for Silver to sit on the bed before ushering the other whores out the veranda doors. “No need to shame the boy, just slip back in and avoid his crew. You’ve already been paid for the roll. Enjoy the break. I’ve got this one.”

“You always break them too easy,” the second whore complained.

“If you like bruises, Anna, Hammond is on the docks,” Max bit out with a sharp look.

Anna flounced out and Silver took the distraction to scoop up her discarded clothing and rifle through it, looking for the leather scroll. When she didn’t find it, she scanned the floor and pulled on the disarrayed blankets on the bed.

“Looking for this?” Asked Max, tipping the leather scroll between her fingertips. “A whore for every finger on your hand but your eyes kept drifting to this. And don’t, for a moment, continue pretending to be afraid. You’re not afraid, but you are hiding something. So tell me, what is it that is so precious to you?”

Silver took a step forward only to stop when Max took a step back and threatened, “One scream will bring Mr. Noonan.”

“Bring him,” Silver threatened back. “I’ll let him know his whores like to steal from his customers.”

Max grinned. It was fleeting but there just before she slowly stalked forward while offering, “And he can let your new Captain know that you withheld something of great value that likely belonged to his latest prize.”

The whore was fishing and Silver knew it, but only because this kind of manipulation was familiar to her. She’d hedged threats like this many times before, with nothing to really back her up but the fear of the person being threatened. It was a bluff. Only question was why would the whore care? Money? Or did she know something else?

Silver huffed in feigned capitulation. “So? What now?”

If she hadn’t been looking for it, she never would have seen the pleased smirked that flashed across Max’s face. “This is to sell, is it not?”

Money then. Silver sighed this time.

“But you cannot know who best to sell it to.” Max drifted away from her as she pulled her vest back on, fastening it all the way back up. “I can know that.”

“What’s that going to cost me?”

“Half.”

Silver laughed. Half of nothing was an easy enough thing to give.

“Pleasure should be shared equally. It is the only way to avoid hurt feelings.”

Silver looked up, only catching a glimpse of the look on Max’s face before she schooled her features into something more smug. But it was a look Silver recognized very easily. Desperation.

“Look, this deal is a terrible idea. There’s so many ways it could go wrong. At this point I’m stuck, but you? You could walk away.”

 _“Bien,”_ Max scoffed. “Now tell me what it is.”

Silver sighed. “I don’t know.”

“What.”

Silver sighed again and started unbuttoning her vest, disrobing down to her short sleeves before pulling the tails of her shirt out of her trousers. Then she pulled the shirt up and off.

Max stared for a bit before understanding came over her features. She looked up from the bindings on Silver’s chest to look into her eyes, her confusion obvious. “Why?”

“Why what?” Silver shrugged the shirt back on, and started pulling her vest on. “Why disguise myself as a boy and leave my home? Why kill a man who was ready to throw me to pirates to protect a piece of paper along with his hide? Why hold onto that paper? The answer to all three is the same; to protect myself. Now,” she stopped and picked up her boots before sitting on the edge of bed to pull them on. “Why?”

Max blinked before tilting her head. “I believe we understand each other very well then, _mon cherie.”_

 _“Cher,_ love.” Silver stood, stomping her boot into place. “I’m a boy here.”

“All right,” Max straightened. “Now what?”

“Now,” Silver held out her hand for the leather scroll and watched as Max very reluctantly handed it over. “Now we figure out what the hell we have.”

_Let me tell you a story about a Spaniard named Vasquez._

“You can get your hands on a rowboat?”

Max shot Silver a glare. “I can get my hands on a lot of things. Remember that.”

Silver held up her hands in surrender.

_A few weeks ago he staggers into a tavern in Port Royal, takes a seat next to an English merchant Captain. Vasquez, it turns out, is dying. Bleeding to death from a knife wound to the belly._

The rowboat bumped into the dark hull of the Walrus and Silver stood up. “You should keep your distance until I signal your return for me. If anything should happen and I don’t return soon-”

“I leave.”

Silver grinned, “Smart girl.”

 _The knife wound was courtesy of his former employer_ ; Il Caza del Contrición en Savil, _Naval Colonial Intelligence for Spain._

She only just controlled her shaking hands as she got back up onto the deck, her lantern swinging as she searched the dark waves for Max’s rowboat. As soon as the small ship bumped the hull, Silver was over the side.

“Well?”

Silver shivered, “You won’t believe it.”

_One of their top agents responsible for the security of one particular ship, a ship with a cargo so rich the King of Spain is very eager to see it launched._

Max shoved her up the back stairs and through the veranda doors before stripping off the rags she’d thrown on for their little sea adventure. “There’s watered wine on the table. Get ahold of yourself.”

Silver stumbled toward the table and shakily pulled the cork from the glass bottle before taking a swallow directly from the neck. She had trouble swallowing the first gulp, but not the second or the third. “Fucking Christ.”

“Get ahold of yourself.”

Silver snorted. _“You_ get ahold of yourself.”

 _“Merde,”_ Max took ahold of the bottle instead. Silver didn’t blame her. It was a lot to get ahold of.

_Vasquez warned that it was too late; storm season was upon them and no escort could be mustered to guard her. But his superiors demanded that he sign off._

“Do you know what they say about Captain Flint?” Max filled a tin mug before handing it to her new partner with a smile. “They say he’s the undead, that he walks the earth without a soul.”

Silver scoffed into the cup before taking another swallow, “Not likely.”

Max smirked. “They say there’s a witch who lives deep inside the island who controls his every move.”

Silver tipped her cup to the side. “That’s possible but what witch would want the headache of that?”

Max barked a laughed before she leaned forward to share, “They say his eyes glow with unholy light when he fights in the vanguard. That he is _loup-garou.”_

Silver stilled, thinking a bit and chewing in her cheek before she sighed and set down the mug. “So how do we sell this out from under that kind of man?”

Max smiled slow and sugary sweet. “We sell it to a Captain who is not afraid of monsters.”

_They advised him that if he couldn’t arrange for an escort he should plot a course for our ship unknown to anyone but our Captain and consider that route to be a state secret of the highest order._

“Come,” Max stood pulling Silver to her feet. “We have to go downstairs.”

Silver groaned.

“And you have to look like you’ve just enjoyed yourself immensely.”

Silver smirked. “Not just pleased then, but _immensely_ pleased?”

Max leaned forward and wiped a line of dirt over her top lip and along the edges of her jaw. “A sated man doesn’t look for more pleasure, _mon petit chou.”_

Silver grimaced before following Max out.

_When Vasquez refused and threatened to report his concerns to the Court, things got ugly._

Silver watched Max navigate the treacherous tables of randy men with too much to drink and too many free hands as she made her way back over to where she was lounging slightly behind a table and nursing her final mug of watered wine. When Max crawled into her lap she realized the other woman was only an inch or two smaller than her, despite her uncanny ability to make herself seem petite. Silver was only a few inches over five and half feet, so Max was anything but delicate. It brought to mind the other woman’s innate ability to sniff out deception that was only equal to Silver’s.

“You find us a buyer yet?”

“Patience, _mon cher,”_ Max murmured, making herself comfortable on Silver’s lap. “Few here willing to cross your Captain, and those I have in mind must be approached with caution.”

“Why not sell it back to Flint?”

“And watch him gut you for the affront of stealing from him in the first place?”

“I didn’t steal it from him.”

“You think he will care about the difference?”

Before Silver could argue, a blond woman walked in and stole all of Max’s attention. _“Merde,”_ Silver hissed, and took another drink.

 _The ship in question;_ Urca d’Lima. _The largest Spanish treasure galleon in the Americas. According to Vasquez; cargo in excess of five million dollars._

She didn’t come down, not for another hour and Silver resolved to find a warm depression in the sand on the beach where she’d seen the men setting up tents and hope for a few hours sleep at the least. Before leaving, she caught one of the other girls. “Let Max know I’m on the beach, will you?”

The whore smirked and slid up to her. “If you’re looking for more company, I can help you. Max’ll be busy until morning with Miss Guthrie.”

Silver nearly spat, _'Who?'_ before remembering herself. She glanced up at the door leading to Max’s room as if she could see through it. _Miss Guthrie?_ If she had dealings with the Guthrie business then maybe Max knew what she about. And selling the page to the woman in charge of reselling their goods? Well. That might be the best idea she’d heard all day.

She politely declined Idelle’s generous offer before slipping quietly through the tables toward the door. On her way back out, Logan caught her, throwing his arm over her shoulder and staggering down to the beach while singing about his ‘sweet, sweet Charlotte.’ “Didja like yer initiation, Silver? Did Blackbeard make a man outta you?”

Silver huffed “You’ll have to tell me in the morning,” and threw off the arm to his agreeable laughter before helping another lad steer Logan to one of the communal tents. “Here,” she pushed him down onto one of the pallets on the sand. “Sleep it off.”

“You’re a good lad, Silver,” Logan huffed into his pillow. “We’ll make a pirate outta you yet.”

“We’ll see,” Silver patted his head, tempted to shove it deeper into the padding when he abruptly started snoring like a hibernating bear with a cold. She looked up, wide-eyed into the laughing faces of the two other men who filed into the tent after her, stinking of rum and sex and sweat. They dropped into the two pallets on either side of the entrance, leaving her to the one opposite Logan. Suspecting that if she tried to leave they’d follow, or worse, stop her, Silver resigned herself to little sleep on an uncomfortable pallet being guarded by pirates.

Could be worse.

By morning, she suspected they’d put her in with Logan as both test and deterrence from sleeping in. She was up before dawn having gotten little to no sleep, but all too aware that the men still trickling back down from town were getting hungry and she was the one they looked for to feed them. Randall was little help; he’d apparently slept in the cooking tent, a small black and white tabby curled up on his chest. But as soon as she set the logs to start boiling water, he’d rolled slowly to his feet and started peeling potatoes. Boiled pork and mash was offset by more oranges, plantains and even mangos.

“Is it possible to get the opposite of scurvy, Randall?”

Randall merely grunted before letting out the most horrendous noise from his nether regions. Even the men outside the tent grimaced at the sound before swiftly moving away.

Silver sighed.

Only a few minutes later Gates made his way into the tent. “Randall. Can you handle dowsing the fire on your own?”

Randall glared. “I can cook.”

Gates just smiled, “Good,” before he grabbed Silver by the elbow and towed him along toward the shore and a line of longboats. “Do you know what ‘calling a vote’ means?”

Silver blinked. “No?”

Gates sighed and explained, “Our Captain is not a Captain because he was appointed such by a lord or a King. Flint was voted in by the men and retains that position only so long as he retains the votes of his men. Are you getting this?”

Silver tried to understand as she was shoved into the longboat and rowed out to the _Walrus._ “Do I get a vote?”

“You’re a member of the crew, ain’tcha?”

Huh. “Who’s challenging him?”

Gates sent her a look. “Sharp. Singleton.”

“The man with the scarred face who likes it rough?" At Gates’ questioning squint, Silver shrugged sheepishly. “I spent most of the evening in the company of whores, sir.”

Gates sighed heavily before turning and shouting to one of the other longboats. “Logan! What did I say about that Blackbeard shite?”

The men all around guffawed almost too loud to hear Logan’s shouted reply of, “To do it often and always, sir?”

“Yeah. Only what I said was _don’t_ and _never!”_

Even the oarsmen lost it at that and it took another few minutes before they got their rhythm back enough to steer the longboats close enough to the ship for the men to start climbing the rigging up to the rails.

Silver waited when Gates put a hand on her arm before letting her climb up. “Just remember who brought you on board, yeah?”

Silver eyed Gates before giving a slow nod. As she climbed up she _did_ think about that. Killing the cook onboard the _Carolina_ and joining the crew of the _Walrus_ was probably the easiest decision she’d made for months. Picking up that scroll and figuring out it could help her situation was just good sense. Signing onto the merchant ship in Bristol Harbor disguised as a boy had been a bit of good luck followed by three weeks of absolute nerve-wracking hell that didn’t really end all that well. But before then? Well. Silver shoved that away in an effort not to think at all.

It was easy to fade into the background as the men around her discussed the upcoming vote and each of the merits of the men who would be vying for Captain.

Singleton had apparently been making a lot of promises to each and every one of the men. Some of them the exact same promises, some of them contradictory. If Silver had to guess, the man was talking out his ass in a effort to get a bit of control. She wondered what drove a man like that to come up against a man like the Captain.

Flint… was Flint.

There wasn’t a story told of the man that didn’t end in bloody violence or rich plunder or both. The stories of his monstrous traits and abilities only cemented in the men’s minds the kind of ruthless man this Captain Flint could be. She wondered if that kind of man would take the questioning of his authority lightly, or if this was likely to end as all his other stories seemed to end.

The men had been starting to get a bit restless when a shout went up about the Captain’s skiff. Silver watched anxiously as a man climbed up over the rail followed by Billy. When she noticed Gates approaching it was only then that she realized that the man was the fearsome Captain Flint.

Silver lifted a brow as she studied him. Not quite two hundred centimeters tall and maybe fourteen stone, the man was muscled but not physically intimidating. He had the red hair and fair skin of those descended from Northern England or Ireland so she could guess his family didn’t come from landed gentry. But there was something in the way he stared at the crew, in the way he stalked across the deck toward the Captain’s cabin, the way his back stayed straight and his gate unencumbered by the gentle roll of the ship below his feet.

She turned the men beside her. “How long’s Flint been in Nassau?”

Logan shrugged and scratched at his chin. “Some say ten years?”

“Naw,” a shorter man to Logan’s left argued. “He’s not been Captain of the _Walrus_ for that long.”

“It was ‘im an’ Avery an’ Blackbeard wot pulled Nassau from the British,” Another man on her right chimed in. “Tha’ was only six years ago. He’s been Captain tha’ long.”

Silver’s mind started racing. How did a man who’d been able to hold Captain that long in conditions such as these react when his authority was questioned?

She turned to look at Singleton, who stood legs braced and arms loose with a mild smile across his scarred face. He seemed so assured he’d won already. But Silver couldn’t let go of this feeling. She’d felt it once before and she knew what it meant. That atavistic awareness of a predator nearby.

Then the men hushed as Flint descended the stair, a very familiar log held in his hand. He didn’t speak right away, didn’t rush his words. With the skill of a showman, he waited. And when he finally broke the quiet, he was so quiet that the men leaned forward to hear his words.

“I’m sorry,” he started. “For the short hauls, for the trouble I’ve caused, but most importantly for the disregard it seems I’ve shown you.”

Silver would have applauded were it not for the way the hair was standing up all over her body.

“The most important element of a healthy ship is trust; trust between men; trust between Captain and crew. Without it, a ship is doomed.”

She felt herself getting drawn in. How did a man who instilled so much fear be so compelling?

“For the past few months you and I have been on the trail of a prize so rich it could upset the nature of our very world. And for that reason I felt it necessary to keep it secret. I didn’t trust you and that was my mistake.”

This surprised her. She was sure a man rumored to be a monster would never reveal something like the prize stated in those pages. Gold made men do crazy things. And this prize promised a lot of gold.

“Right now I would like to tell you that that prize is within our grasp, and we are close. So close. But it would appear that my concerns about secrecy had merit.” At that Silver felt her skin tighten. And when he lifted the log and raised his voice she swore she could hear the trap door snapping shut. “Someone on this crew discovered my plans and tore from this log the very page necessary to discover that prize. Stole it for their own gain, stole it from us.”

Silver glanced around, trying to find an avenue of escape that wouldn’t immediately have bloodthirsty pirates on her ass. Flint’s next words made her freeze.

“And then, stoked your resentment to cover his crime and make himself your Captain.”

_What?_

What followed was one of the most brutal things she’d ever witnessed, and she'd been party to several fights between men that got bloody and even vicious. This? When Singleton denied a trial and instead demanded swords Silver was expecting something like a fencing match. Instead, it was like watching an English gentleman fight a Viking. She kept wondering what rules Flint was playing by only to then wince when he remembered that there _were no rules._ They cut at each other, Flint seemingly taking the worse until he kicked Singleton’s sword in twain. Then it was fists and wrestling about on the ground with a desperation she was beginning to feel. The meaty _thwak_ of the cannonball on Flint’s hand cracking, splitting, _pulverizing_ Singleton’s face and skull was nothing short of barbaric. In the quiet after she could hear the wet wheeze of Singleton’s last breath and the harsh pants of Flint as he raged in bloodlust.

But when he looked up, teeth bared, and seemingly stared into her eyes, Silver froze.

He was covered in blood. He looked as though he may as well have torn out Singleton’s throat with how much blood and viscera dripped from his mouth, chin and throat. He seemed to be steaming as his body shook and his hands trembled in the aftermath, but it was his eyes that stilled her. She couldn’t move until he looked away.

She watched, frozen as he sat back, still straddling Singleton’s body and handed off a piece of torn parchment to Billy, his fingers visibly shaking with the pounding of his heart. She could feel the leather scroll in her vest pocket, even dipped her chin to check, but as Billy announced that they had the torn piece in his hand, she began to understand.

Flint staggered to his feet. “Friends, brothers, the prize that you and I’ve been pursuing is _l’Urca d’Lima.”_

Silver shuddered at the growl of his voice, the pleasure she could hear in it. The hunger. The _satisfaction._

“The Hulk! A prize of almost unimaginable value!” He stumbled and, using the crossbeams to keep himself upright, staggered his way across the deck like a drunk. She had to imagine the rush in his blood felt very like that. “Now with this page securely in our possession we can begin our hunt. And we will succeed. No matter the cost. No matter the struggle. I will see that prize is yours. I’m not just gonna make you rich. I’m not just gonna make you strong. I’m gonna make you the princes of the New World!”

And Joanna Silver closed her eyes at the memory of burning eyes the color of the setting sun.


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catching up to the teen wolf AU but this still follows episode 2 quite a bit.

_**1715**_ – _**Nassau, New Providence Island**_

In the aftermath, while the crew cheered their Captain and helped him stumble to the Captain’s cabin to get cleaned up, Silver watched men prop up the body of Singleton and deface and defile him in every way imaginable. This was a man they’d nearly voted to be their new Captain. What would they do to someone she knew the Captain would soon be quietly hunting? If he wasn’t already?

Randal said something about being a thief that made her hair stand on end but all she could think was _werewolf_.

Captain Flint was a werewolf.

She’d seen the evidence of it with her own eyes. The shift had nearly taken him as he beat Singleton to death with his bare hands. His teeth had been partially elongated, his brow tightened and his jaw thickened with the change. But the single most glaring bit was the bright, hellish glow of his eyes. Not the unearthly gold glow of a beta or the nightmarish red of an alpha, but a color almost caught between them. Orange. Rage and anger and hate and fear and grief. All of it had been in his feral gaze before he’d taken a deep breath and seemingly sucked it all down.

She knew what resided just skin deep. She’d seen the consequences of letting a beast like that roam free without any kind of anchor or pack to hold him back.

The thought of others had her gaze surreptitiously darting about. At least three were needed for a stable pack. And if Flint did not carry the red eyes of the alpha, it meant there was another who did. No one else on this crew, that was for sure. Gates? She’d seen the way his voice and touch had calmed the heat under Flint’s skin in the aftermath. Perhaps a pack brother. Billy maybe. He’d certainly gone along with the Captain’s subterfuge about the page. Although he seemed too soft to be a deadly supernatural creature.

So someone on the island then. The mysterious witch? That ridiculous story was suddenly much more likely.

But first? She would have to survive the upcoming hunt.

Flint knew someone had stolen the page. He knew they were on this boat. He’d used that information to push Singleton into a deadly confrontation that he knew without a doubt he would win, despite taking obvious blows so as not to appear so monstrous to his crew. _Men_ didn’t suffer split guts and broken bones and still live to tear out the throats of their enemies. And right now, Silver was an enemy. She glanced around and noticed that both Gates and Bones were nowhere to be seen and felt her skin tighten. There would be no talking her way out of this one. Not after that fight. She had to get off the ship. _Now._

A quick chat with Dufresne at the rails let her know that it wouldn’t be as easy as jumping on the last longboat.

“Perhaps if you made the men some food-”

“All our supplies are on the beach. We were in the middle of cooking breakfast when we were called out for the vote.”

“Ah, well,” Dufresne pushed his glasses up his nose as he peered at the boats between the ship and the shore. “As soon as the next longboat gets back-”

But Silver was no longer listening. A movement out of the corner of her eye alerted her to the fact that Bones and Gates had exited the Captain’s cabin and were heading right for her. She backed away from the rails, down the ladder and through a few men, putting them between her and her hunters. She saw Gates caution Billy before slowly following him down the ladder. But it was the appearance of Flint behind them at the rail that triggered her flight. She was up another ladder and standing on the rail before higher thought could take over. A single glance over her shoulder, she met the burning gaze of the Captain and she was in the air before she could remind herself to dive and not just jump.

She bit back a scream at the slap of pain belly-flopping into the sea caused, though she was surprisingly thankful for the clarity it brought as she swam toward the last longboat which had stopped rowing to laugh at her predicament. The short trip to shore was more than nerve-wracking. Her obfuscation with the men on the beach was only a stop-gap and she knew it. She made her way as fast as was safely possible to the brothel and interrupted a hand-job with embarrassing but necessary results.

“We have a problem. Flint’s onto me.”

“And so you come here? What if you’d been followed?”

“I was careful.”

“Careful! You just told me you’d been caught!” Max’s accent deepened as her desperation came out in a hysterical laugh. “You’ve fucked me!”

“There’s no need to panic. We can still make the deal with Miss Guthrie and-”

“Miss Guthrie? There’s no _deal_ with her.”

“What?” Silver blinked, “I thought she was who you were going to sell the paper to. Then she could give it to Flint and everybody would be happy and no one would be trying to kill us.”

“I thought Flint would no longer be Captain this morning, Singleton would.”

“Singleton’s dead. Flint killed him.” At Max’s incredulous look, Silver swallowed. “Why, who did you make the deal with?”

“The man who helped engineer the mutiny on Flint’s ship, Charles Vane.”

“Fuck,” Silver breathed. _“You’ve_ fucked us. Why would you go to Vane?”

“You don’t know these men, _cherie,”_ Max hissed, something knowing in her eyes. “They are animals.”

“Oh,” Silver blew out a half hysterical laugh herself. “I think I get it.”

“No, you do not,” Max repeated. “You do not know-”

“I _know.”_

It was her tone that brought Max up, blinking as though confused.

 _“Loup-garou,_ yes?” Silver sighed, “You were warning me. Or, at least, I’d like to think you were. How many men on the island are actually turnskins?”

Max took a step back and Silver could see the new assessing light in her eyes. “Not as many on the island itself, but more in Nassau than you would be comfortable with, I think, _mademoiselle Argent.”_

Silver winced. In France and across the continent, the name Argent was synonymous with ‘hunter.’ Not many who were aware of the supernatural didn’t know the story of Argent and the extensive hunts being perpetuated by her family in France and across Europe. “Not Argent. Not here.”

“All right,” Max turned to the table and uncorked another glass bottle of watered wine. “So what do we do?”

“What about Miss Guthrie?”

Max wiped her chin off with the back of her hand. “What about her?”

“You’re obviously close,” Silver started, remembering the way Max had abandoned her for the night. “Can you approach her with this?”

“After I’ve already gone to Vane’s man? No,” Max chuckled. “When a man gets fucked he wants to know whose cock is in him. Rackham, Vane’s quartermaster already knows and is expecting to find me here to come to terms. If I back out now he and his men would rip my throat out at best, and give me to his woman, Anne Bonny at worst.”

“Is Vane…?”

“A wolf?” Max clarified. “Yes. So is his quartermaster. Though who their alpha is, I would not know.”

“And Anne Bonny?”

“I know not what she is, but she is not wolf though her and Rackham may well be mates for all they allow no one to come between them.”

“What about Gates? Billy Bones?”

“Yes to both,” Max said, dropping the mouth of the bottle as she took in Silver’s mounting worry. “Why?”

“Well, we may have more a problem than I first thought.” Silver held up her hands at Max’s angry sputter. “I was careful. But not as careful as I would have been had I known I was being hunted by more than one wolf!”

“What does it matter? One wolf or many wolves?”

“It matters a great deal if the difference is an established pack or a bunch of lone wolves banding together for stability.”

Max eyed her. “How do you know these things?”

“I’m an _Argent,”_ Silver winced even saying the name. “I was trained to know these things. Now can you get a message to Miss Guthrie or not?”

“What good could Eleanor do now?”

“A great deal,” Silver filed away the familiarity for later consideration.

Before she could explain there came a knock on the door and it was opened by Idelle. “He’s downstairs again. With _her.”_

 _“Merde,”_ Max hissed before shoving Silver out the door and onto the veranda. “Idelle, take Silver to your room, and send a boy to Eleanor with the message that we need to talk to her immediately.”

Idelle opened the next door on the veranda before gesturing at the wall. “There’s a peep hole, just there if you want to keep an eye on whatever Max is doing for you.”

“A peep hole?”

“It’s in case of protection. At least,” Idelle’s smirk was lascivious. “That’s what Noonan tells us. I’ll be back in a minute.”

So Silver stood alone, twitching warily before succumbing to her curiosity and nearly climbing over the desk to get at the peep hole. Rackham was tall and slim and just disheveled enough to look dastardly with a blade and a pistol in his hips though he had all the airs of a peacock and all the hunger of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And ever at his back, a shadow but obviously not hiding, was Anne Bonny. Silver shivered when she caught sight of the other woman’s pale eyes. She said only a few words and those more cuss words than anything, but her voice had the low, gravel hoarseness of a woman who _screamed._

 _Beanne sidhe._ Banshee.

Silver hadn’t encountered one of those since she was a small girl, but she’d never forget the way the Banshee seemed to look through her, beyond her into the deaths at her hands and the death in her future. Banshee are singular in that they leave an indelible mark one can never see, but never forget. She wasn’t surprised the banshee had hooked her knives into a wolf and not let go. Banshee, inevitably, have one foot in the grave, and without an anchor in the living they would almost always go mad or insane, especially one surrounded by so much violence and death as a woman who'd made herself a force to be reckoned with on a pirate crew. And what was more an anchor to the living than a werewolf brimming with so much life under his skin?

God, Silver thought to herself, what else would she encounter out here, at the ass end of the known world?

_Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.*_

Her family motto. It was one of the many reasons she’d fled home. A motto that allowed far too much leniency to those who did the hunting and not enough mercy or understanding to those that were hunted. Most monsters were people, too, just with baser instincts and needs that lent credence to their lack of civility in polite society. But that was no reason to have them exterminated _en masse._ In England and across the continent, the Spanish Inquisition was picking up speed as so many of those people who had lived their way of life peaceably were now being hunted because of a singular bias the church had instilled.

Harmless turnskins, noble werewolves, helpful hegde witches, anyone _other._ All were labeled evil; the work of the devil, not of God.

A church run by a man who was rumored to be more than a man himself. Pope Clement XI had only been head of the Catholic Church for fifteen years, but it was rumored that in those years his priests and soldiers had devoured whole entire libraries from Syria and Egypt that would likely never again see the light of day, nor be read by anyone beyond those allowed access to the Vatican’s vast underground catacombs. In the last twelve years alone, the church had quietly declared war on any who exhibited traits known to be not quiet _homo sapiens sapiens._ Silver suspected that the collection of those vast books had helped the church in recognizing those traits, when before they’d been bumbling around in the dark, relying on hunting families like her own to know what to look for. She suspected the Pope had come to his fear and hatred of ‘the other’ while in Sweden with Queen Christina, who her family suspected flouted social propriety and took all sorts of female lovers like a King without shame because she was succubus. Silver could remember her mother sneering at any mention of the Queen’s revolutionary college of education and of the men who’d flocked to Sweden to learn, of which Clement had been one.

Looking at just that bit of history, it came as no surprise now that so many had run to the outer reaches of the Church’s influence. It was very likely that Silver would come to find _many_ types of people here, on this little bit of an island.

A third man soon joined the group in the room next door, an appraiser, to establish the value of the pearls that Jack Rackham handed to Max in a small leather pouch, while Anne Bonny stood guard outside. It was a long, boring process that wasn’t helped by Idelle’s frustration in not getting paid while Silver took up space in her rooms. The appraiser had just left and Max and Rackham were discussing how to exchange their goods when suddenly another man burst into the room, his eyes bled yellow with his anger and he slammed Max against the wall before Silver could understand just what the hell he as angry about.

For just a moment as they spoke of Singleton, Silver thought ‘ _Good, we can get out of this_ ,’ but then Max and Rackham both seemed to work to convince Vane that the story he’d heard of Flint having the page were false and suddenly Max was being choked to within an inch of her life.

Then, too fast for her to back away completely unscathed, a knife came toward her eye through the peep hole.

Silver turned to shove open the veranda doors and spun to grab Idelle only to catch her full on as they collided. With not much time, Silver tripped them both and ducked to the floor just as she heard the heavy steps of Rackham outside Idelle’s rooms. He burst in just as she rolled them both under the bed and out of sight and then held her hand over the other girl’s mouth as the pirate stormed through the rooms, assessed the peep hole with the bloody knife sticking through it, and stalked back out.

It was only after the sounds of the three pirates leaving the second floor by way of the stairs that Silver felt the sting of the wound on her cheek. She let go of Idelle and rolled back out from under the bed to check the small mirror. Less than a finger-width from her right eye and nearly a finger in length; had her reaction been any slower, she’d likely be blind and tortured right now by a pair of angry wolves and a bloodthirsty banshee.

Idelle came up slower, but as soon as she saw the blood on Silver’s cheek, darted to the door and over to Max’s room.

“Christ, Max,” Idelle whispered. “Can you talk?”

Worry for her partner pushed Silver towards the peep hole where she noticed a small crowd gathering at Max’s door. When Noonan appeared, the girls skittered out of the way. He was followed by the madam, a grey-haired buxom matriarch who had no problem being rough with the girls, though her caring was obvious.

Idelle twisted back inside the room, closing the door behind her before darting toward the armoire. She dug out a pair of silky robes, a skirt and, of all things, a silky dark haired wig before tossing most of it at Silver. “Put the wig and robe on and unbutton that vest, you’ll need to show a little skin if you’re to hide here until dark. And for God’s sake, take the boots off and stow them under the bed.”

Silver blinked at her. “What? I can’t-”

“Hard for a girl like me not to feel some things when we was pressed so close,” she shrugged the other robe on, untucking her hair from the collar and tying the belt with jerky movements. “I don’t care why, but you can’t leave here dressed like a man. They know what you look like. I’ll tend to Max and let her know you’re okay.”

Swallowing her apprehension, Silver nodded. “Let her know-” she stopped herself and sighed. “Tell her Eleanor can mediate. Both will listen to her, and we may all get out of this alive.”

Idelle nodded before heading next door to tend to her friend under the watchful eye of Noonan who had no qualms berating his whores for ‘putting themselves in danger.’

Silver snorted at his idiotic logic before divesting herself of her vest and boots. She opened her shirt, tucked under the collar, and pulled up her trousers so that the hems were rolled just above her knees. When she pulled on the robe and tied it loosely, she suspected that she looked like she wore very little underneath.

That part was relatively easy. It was the wig she would have trouble with.

Her own hair was dark, blue-black, thick and curly, and tended toward ringlets if given any length. It was just a touch too feminine for her ruse, so she’d shorn the locks to less than a finger-length all over. Taking Idelle’s advice to look more feminine, Silver went to the pitcher and ewer of water and poured it directly over her head in an effort to soak her locks and pry them loose from the tight, stiff curls they’d settled into against her skull after her ungainly dip in the ocean. The salt had stiffened her hair, made it sticky in a way that only fresh water and a real bath with soap could fix, but she would make do. She spotted a wide-toothed wooden comb on the table and reached for it. After weeks sailing from Bristol to Virginia and days from Virginia to Nassau, her hair was an oily, tightly curled mess. Water without soap and a comb could only do so much, but after toweling her hair dry, and using the damp cloth to wipe the dirt from her face, it wasn’t a half bad job.

When Idelle came back in the whore gave her an assessing look and nearly snorted at the way she was holding the wig at arms length like a dead thing.

“Here,” Idelle came forward. “Bend forward. Hold the front at your hairline.”

Silver did as she asked and felt as Idelle pulled the wig hard over her hair until it hugged her scalp tightly. When she stood up, the silky locks fell in gentle curls around her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Guthrie’s in with Max now, but she’s not alone,” Idelle added when Silver headed for the door. “She brought Flint and his men.”

Silver froze. Flint was here? Along with Gates and Billy? She quickly backed away from the hallway door and began gathering her few things. “You have a bag?”

A small, worn carpet bag was shoved into her hands. Along with the wooden comb and a pair of slippers that had seen better days. Silver nodded her thanks shoving her boots, vest and the comb into the bag, along with her leather pouch and the scroll. She turned to Idelle and handed her a few coins, what was left of the eight dollars she’d been paid as part of Flint’s crew before they’d all started disembarking that morning. “If it’s not enough-”

“You make sure Max is safe,” Idelle said, curling her fingers around the coins. “That’ll be enough.”

Silver nodded and turned to leave before pausing at the veranda doors to quietly ask, “Is there actually a witch who lives on the island?”

“Not a witch, no,” Idelle snorted. Then, before Silver could sag with defeat, she continued, “She’s an old medicine woman. Been growing herbs and such for aches and pains and us girls in case we catch, or for Charlotte when she has her monthies when they hurt her too much.”

Silver froze. “And where might I find her?”

* * *

Walking around as a woman instead of a man was an entirely different way of holding herself, of walking, of looking at the men who are looking back at her. She had to be careful to smile but not smile too invitingly. Careful to look but not look to long. Careful to walk with a sway but not too wide. She couldn’t turn and punch the men who slapped her ass as she walked by, she had to giggle and smile and _keep walking._

As soon as she hit sand beyond the beaches she started running. Behind the fort, situated just outside Nassau proper, was a small homestead built into the side of short cliff. A squat, weathered little hut cheerfully smoking with a single light. In front and on either side of the short walkway were neat little rows of herbs and shrubs, some of which she recognized, most she didn’t. The presence of one in particular reassured her that this side-trip wasn’t a waste of her precious time.

She knocked on the door and waited as patiently as she could under the circumstances. When the door opened to reveal not a wizened old crow, but a rather clean looking black man, Silver smirked. “I need your help.”

It was only a few minutes later that she was sent on her way, hurrying against the fall of the sun towards the wrecks on the edge of the cove. She ducked into the crevices created by the sheered rocks and found a secluded alcove where she could sit for a moment and think.

She’d changed back into her more manly garb at the cottage, leaving the silky robe, wig, slippers and carpet bag in lieu of payment for the small bag of powder he placed gently in her hand.

“You know what it is you will anger, doing this?”

She sucked in a slow breath and felt her skin tighten in anticipation. “I have a good idea.”

Darkness fell while she was in thought. When she became aware of the tension in the air, Silver wondered if the world could tell that five predators were converging on this very spot. Five, not two because she was sure Max had given Flint the location they’d decided on for the exchange by now. That meant that at least five werewolves and a banshee, if Anne Bonny decided to join her mate, were going to be hunting for her in this maze of putrefied flesh and ship skeletons.

All she hoped to accomplish now, beyond escaping bloodthirsty pirates, getting enough money to make a life for herself, and saving a greedy whore who’d gotten her between two fighting wolves, was to get out of this alive.

Hopefully without being maimed in the process. And really, there was only one way to secure her livelihood; the page had to be physically destroyed. She found a nearby fire and began committing the schedule to memory.

It was not quiet in the wrecks. Above the constant low rush of the waves breaking over rocks were the moans, murmurs, mutters and occasional screams of men lost to opium and sickness. It was fairly easy for Silver to find a man who’s pupils declared him drugged, not sick and convince him to approach the two men cautiously entering at the edge of the rocks and deliver a message.

It wasn’t a message Silver expected to go well and she was right when she heard Vane shout, “I know you can hear me! You want your money you show your fucking face! That’s the only way this gets done!” Nor was she surprised when a few moments later, after Rackham apparently tried to reason with Vane, Charles’ face shifted into something a little more bestial and he tore out the throat of the addict hunched before him.

“Now! Come out here and face me, or these pearls go back where they belong!”

Silver huffed and turned to find another addict willing enough to toddle over and deliver a message. Before she let him go, she dipped a finger into the pouch and rubbed a line of the blue-black powder along the addict’s throat. Just in case.

She watched as the addict delivered her message and both Vane’s and Rackham’s faces twitched with irritation but before they could do anything beyond huff out in frustration there was the sound of a pistol being fired from behind her and the sharp sting of a stone ricochet cutting into the back of her hand.

Silver dropped down between rocks and slithered as fast as possible deeper into the maze. She wasn’t sure who shot at her, but her bet was on one of Flint’s crew finally tracking her down.

Perfect.

She made sure to make just enough noise that even a man without wolf senses would be able to follow her frantic steps across granite and shale. A good five minutes of playing cat and mouse among the rocks and Silver was nearly in the clear. She glanced behind her and sighed in relief when she didn’t see a body closing on her position only to bite back a scream when a heavy mass slammed her sideways into the rocks.

“Where’s the page?” growled Captain Flint.

Everything stilled. No sound, not the rush of waves, nor the background noise of men among the wrecks, came to her ears in that moment. Nothing but the hammering of her own heart and the sound of Flint's breath sawing through his throat. Where his body pressed hers against the rock face was a searing brand from knees to breastbone. The heat of his hands on her shoulders was so hot that she half expected there to be blisters. His burning eyes demanded an answer.

Silver gulped air, trying to remember the question. “You can’t have it.”

Flint pressed a hand against her throat, fingertips digging in and she felt the bite of claws as a scrabble on the rocks above her head warned her of Billy closing on them.

She clutched his wrist but, instead of pulling back, she leaned into his hold, tilting her head back and baring her throat. The action startled him, she could tell by the way he loosened his fingers. It was enough to gasp out again, “You can’t have it. Not yet.”

Above her Billy growled, “Where have you hidden it?”

Silver tilted her head back a little more, baring her throat further but keeping her eyes on Flint as she whispered, “You’re looking at it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Flint snarled, his eyes darting between hers and the skin of her throat.

She could tell her actions were unsettling him, her words confusing him. But she needed just a few more moments.

“Well, I couldn’t be certain I would escape both the madman and you,” she said slowly, carefully enunciated her words while keeping her chin up and her body relaxed under Flint’s. “So I took drastic measures for the sake of my survival.”

…there. A hulking shadow at the top of the ridge. Vane.

“Your schedule,” she made sure Vane could see as she touched her temple. “Is up here.”

Flint hauled her up and spun her so that her back collided with his chest as both he and Billy turned to face Vane. The three let out ripping growls that flooded the wrecks and silenced all else but the rhythmic roar of the sea for a few terrifying moments. Flint’s hand was still around her throat, claws just resting against the skin of her jugular. Billy stood on the rocks above them, pistol drawn and pointed at Vane though all present knew it would barely slow him down unless Billy could shoot him in the head. Vane was hunched over, almost on all fours, his face and form completely given over into the half feral strength of a beta wolf, his eyes glowing molten gold with fangs and claws on full display.

Less than a meter separated all four of them, so close were the rocks that hid them from the rest of the world. It took a moment – a long, tension filled moment – for the wolves to realize that Silver was unaffected by what should have been her first sight of a werewolf, a terrifying monster of legend. She stood almost casually against Flint, letting him carry her weight against his chest, her head back just far enough for their instincts to recognize that she wasn’t a threat.

When she realized that she had all three of their attentions, she smiled, “Oh, good,” and threw the powder in her hand into the air.

Their reactions were near instantaneous; they gasped. Immediately inhaling the wolf’s bane they began coughing. Soon after, Billy tumbled off the rocks and into the sand, Vane dropped to the ground, his features softening out of the half-transformation as he struggled against the inevitable unconsciousness. It was Flint who lasted longest, though Silver wasn’t surprised. As his hand dropped from around her throat, she turned, grabbing his lapels and easing him to the ground.

“How-” he gasped, struggling to breathe.

“Don’t talk,” Silver cautioned. “You’ll be all right.”

He fought against it as his knees gave out, eyes sputtering bright orange as he pulled on his other-nature in an effort to fight the poison. “Why?” he hissed.

“It’s not personal, Captain,” Silver tried not to roll her eyes as he bared his teeth at her. “I tried to tell you, I’m just trying to survive.”

When he finally collapsed, it was forward, into her lap, not back into the sand, his weight pinning her in place. Silver really did roll her eyes then. Even unconscious he was causing her trouble. It proved itself when the scuttling sounds of boots over rocks announced the arrival of one of the other two wolves. Thankfully, it was Gates and not Rackham, who she was sure would call out to his mate and she wasn’t quite prepared to deal with a banshee scream while trapped under the considerable weight of a pseudo-alpha.

“What did you do?” Gates snarled at her, confirming his wolf status as his eyes flashed bright gold with worry in the dark night.

Silver made sure her palm was still coated in wolf’s bane as she held her hand out to ward of the quartermaster. “Nothing permanent. I promise you.”

The sincerity in her voice marginally calmed him. Allowed him to notice that all three men were alive, if unconscious. “What the-”

“Howl for Rackham, would you?” Silver asked. “I don’t feel like putting myself under one of your kind while all of you would cheerfully rip out my throat before we come to terms."

“Terms?” Gates barked.

She tapped her temple with a finger. “Schedule is up here and no where else.”

Gate stared at her for a second before he gave a heartfelt, _“Fuck,”_ and threw back his head to let out a pleading, low howl.

It took only a few moments in which Gates bent to check on Billy while she tried, unsuccessfully to roll Flint off her lap. He only grinned at her when she found that even unconscious, Flint was gripping her shirt and trousers, claws dug through the fabric in such a way that she’d have to rip off a good portion of each in order to free herself.

Gates chuckled at her use of animal parts to add color to her curses. “Don’t quite think that’s physically possible, lad.”

“Don’t give a _shit,”_ Silver growled at him. “Help me loose!”

They’d just finished prying the last finger out of her shirt when Rackham stumbled over the ridge and down into the gully with them, dripping wet and cursing. “Why the fucking fuck are you still fucking alive and what the fuck have you done to my fucking captain? Gates. Nice night.” Rackham bent to check Vane’s pulse and only when he’d ascertained his alive but unconscious state did he straighten to look Silver in the eye. “The fucking cook?”

Gates started laughing.

Silver crossed her arms, careful to keep her still powdered-covered hand curled lightly, just in case she needed to subdue these two. “Two choices; you can carry your men and follow me out, or I knock you both out the same way I did these three and walk. What’ll it be?”

Gates and Rackham blinked at her before eyeing each other. It was Rackham who spoke first. “Follow you where?”

“Neutral ground to discuss terms.”

“Terms?”

Gates sighed, “Lad’s got the schedule in his head. Burn the page, I'm guessing?”

Silver nodded but stayed silent, waiting for then to decide.

Rackham stared for a second. _“Fuck.”_

“That seems to be the general consensus,” Gates agreed, looking down at three bodies. “I’ll take Flint, you Vane and we both grab Billy’s arm?”

Rackham studied the three men as well. “Why Billy?”

“You like Billy, and you won’t want to hurt him like you would Flint.”

“Fair,” Rackham tilted his head. “Oh, all right. Where to?”

Both men bent and, with a strength belied by their frames, pulled their Captains into shoulder carry’s before bending to grasp an arm each of Billy. Silver started to lead the way out of the stone maze.

“Left, boy,” Rackham grunted, breathing just a bit more heavily under the strain. “Where did you have in mind to come to these terms?”

Silver dutifully turned left instead of right as she thought about it. “Guthrie’s?”

Gates hummed in agreement but Rackham scoffed.

“She hates Vane. Been hoarding leads since the two of them stopped fucking. From what Vane said before we got here, he'd confronted her about it only to have her confirm that she'd rather cut off her nose to spite her face than give one of her best earners any more information about prizes.”

Silver lifted a brow. That was interesting. “Wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with why Vane nearly strangled Max today, would it?”

“Possibly,” Rackham hedged.

“Likely,” Gates grunted. “Right at the top. Follow the light from there.”

Silver climbed the grassy knoll and turned right onto a slightly worn path. “So where else would both of your Captains feel comfortable enough to talk and not try to rip each other’s, or my throat out?”

It took a few steps for her to realize that they were no longer following her. When she turned it was to find them all but having a conversation with facial expressions. Well, maybe an argument as Gates growled at him.

“Fuck, really?” Rackham whined.

“You know anyone else both Flint and Vane would listen to?” Gates huffed, “Because I sure as shit don’t.”

“Oh, hell.”

Silver cleared her throat. “Who?”

As one both men turned left and looked up at the looming darkness of the fort. “Captain Benjamin Hornigold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_ \- translates to 'We hunt those that hunt us.'


	3. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any mistakes. None of this is edited.

_**1715 - Nassau, New Providence Island** _

The fort was well-armed, well-manned and well-protected, none of which implied that it was also well furnished. So Silver shouldn’t have been surprised when an older, silver-haired man with a waxed mustache simply gestured to the floor of a single room.

“This one’s clean. Drop them there.”

“On the floor?” Rackham protested, not for the sake of Vane, Silver suspected, but because _he_ would feel insulted if he woke up on a stone, rush covered floor.

Hornigold simply lifted a brow and gestured to the chairs and table on the far side of the room. “Where else would you have me put them? They’re bound to wake angry. You want them in a cell or somewhere where they can immediately satiate at least one of their hungers?”

The table at this time was empty, so Silver knew it would most likely fall to the three of them to fill it up, as Hornigold didn’t look to be in an accommodating mood.

Rackham sighed, “Very well,” and then carefully set Charles Vane on the floor.

Gates merely made sure there was nothing _but_ the floor for Flint to land on and unceremoniously dropped him with a _thud._ Silver winced in sympathy for the ache the cracking sound the man head’s made when it impacted the floor would indicate. Then she took a deep breath for the fight she knew would come as she asked, “So who’s staying?”

“Pardon?” Rackham yelped at the same time that Gates barked, “What?”

Silver lifted a brow at both of them. “We need food, as our gracious host has so obviously indicated, so someone needs to go retrieve that. I need to retrieve something personal. So who’s staying?”

“You’re not leaving my sight!” Rackham yelled. “Do you know how much money I just lost because of you?”

“Fuck your money, Jack. Do you know what Flint would do to me if I let the lad wander off?” Gates pointed a finger at her. “You’re staying here!”

Silver lifted her still coated hand and waved it at them. “Or I could knock you both out and let Hornigold lock you _all_ in here until I return in the morning?”

Both Gates and Rackham bit back replies at that, obviously angry over their lack of choices but knowing from her tone that it wasn’t a bluff. They turned and looked at each other for a few moments, again having a conversation with facial expressions before Rackham grimaced. “He’s going to bite my face off.”

“Not with Hornigold here. Besides,” Gates grinned. “You know what Vane would do if you _weren’t_ here to stop him?”

Rackham swallowed. “I see your point.”

“Good,” Silver held out her other hand. “Money, please.”

Both men looked at her as of she was crazy.

Silver sighed. “I’m not stealing food for your Captains and I’m guessing you’d like them waking up with as few strange side effects as possible, yes? So I need coin to buy the food.”

“Son,” Hornigold chuckled. “I’ll pay for the privilege of seeing you deal with these two scoundrels if its anything like this show promises.”

“You’re still not going alone,” Gates threatened.

“Fine,” Silver rolled her eyes. “Follow me.”

Hornigold let them back to the side door they’d entered in, handing Silver enough of pieces of eight to make Gates grumble, “You’ve never treated _me_ so well, you old bastard.”

Hornigold grinned and Silver could see the sharpness in it. “You’ve never entertained me so well.”

As soon as the gate banged closed behind them, Gates bent over, hands on his knees, and wheezed. It wasn’t until he straightened that Silver understood he was laughing and not choking. “Jesus fucking _Christ,_ boy, I hope you survive what’s coming. I can’t wait to see what kind of man you become.”

Silver mentally rolled her eyes but didn’t respond beyond saying “This way,” when she figured out what direction the hut was in. As they walked, Gates occasionally chuckled to himself. Silver just shook her head and turned onto the small path to the hut. It wasn’t until she was nearly to the door that she realized Gates wasn’t right behind her anymore. She turned to see him straining at the end of the path, as though leaning against a wall. “Huh,” Silver huffed a laugh.

“What is this?” Gates grunted. “Why can’t I-”

“Mountain ash is useful for many things, Mister Gates,” said a deep voice behind her. Silver spun to see another black man, this one with scars on his face but dressed finely in white linen and buff pantaloons.

“Mister Scott,” Gates grimaced. “I should’ve known.”

Behind Scott was the man who’d introduced himself to Silver as Able. “Good to see you still among the living.”

“Able,” Silver nodded, stepping aside for Scott. “A Mister Scott, is it?”

Her offered hand was ignored as Scott walked by without acknowledging her. “Mister Gates,” Scott smirked. “Shouldn’t you be hunting a thief?”

“Yes, well,” he gestured at Silver. “Complication.”

Both Scott and Able looked at Silver in a new light. Scott merely shook his head before muttering, “I’ll let Miss Guthrie know.”

Able on the other hand, smiled and held his door open for her. “Thief?” he asked as she walked passed him.

“Not on purpose,” Silver hedged, glancing around for the carpet bag and darting forward as soon as she saw it. “It was the reason why I came to you.”

“I gave you that ash only because you asked for something that would not kill,” Able closed the door behind them, giving one last look at Gates on the edge of his property before he turned to the hunter. “But if you’ve used it to start something with the pirates-”

“I haven’t,” Silver pulled out the small leather pouch he’d handed her. “I didn’t want to get involved, but for reasons beyond my knowing it seems I’ve been put right between Flint and Vane-”

Able scoffed incredulously, “Are you trying to start a war?”

Silver pulled herself up with all the bearing she’d had trained and beaten into her – one way or another – as a child and gave him an arch look that silenced any more protests. “I’m _trying_ to get my bearings here. I don’t know all the history in this place and between these people, and in attempting to give a good turn to someone in similar circumstances, I got handed a bad one. So I’m making do with as little bloodshed as possible. If you can help me in that endeavor, fine, if not I don’t need your disparagement.”

Able blinked at her for a moment before he seemed to soften a little. “You think of them as people?”

“Do you not?” Silver blinked back at him.

“Yes,” Able gave a small smile on his hard face. “But very few hunters think as you do.”

“You’d be surprised,” she offered him the pouch and several dollars.

He took them carefully, tucking the coin out of sight and opening the pouch to see all but a few pinches of powder used, “I think I would.”

Silver frowned, “Most hunters _do_ think of them as people, they just don’t _care.”_

“I don’t know what is worse,” Able said quietly as he turned toward his shelves and, instead of stashing the small pouch, he pulled out a jar and refilled it, this time to the brim. “That they convince themselves they are animals so they have the moral superiority to hunt them as they see fit, or they see them as people and do not mind killing them anyway.” Then he tied the pouch closed and handed it back along with a small vial of shimmery oil the same color as the ash.

Silver took them both slowly, “The latter, sir. I assure you it is the latter.”

“You are probably right,” Able agreed amiably. “What will you do now?”

Silver sighed heavily, tucking the pouch and oil in her bag right alongside the feminine apparel. “Hopefully survive the night setting terms between two vicious, posturing beta werewolves who don’t have the honed senses of a beaten puppy. _Without_ any bloodshed.”

Able threw back his head and laughed.

“Right,” Silver sighed again, tossing the bag over one shoulder and heading for the door before she stopped. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to help with a banshee, would you?”

* * *

Gates was not appreciative of being left outside the at hut and he had no compunctions about letting her know. The whole way back into town.

“I get it, Mister Gates,” Silver repeated, for the third time, as they walked up the steps into the tavern. “I’m your prisoner and I will not walk through another magical barrier tonight, all right?”

“What’s this?” A feminine voice called from behind. Silver spun about to face the blond she recognized from the brothel the night before.

“This,” Gates announced to all and sundry and he gave Silver a shove. “Is our thief.”

“Why is it still alive?” she grouched.

Before Silver could open her mouth to protests, Gates offered, “Long story. We need some supplies. Is the kitchen still open?”

She waved her hand toward the back and turned back to her drink.

The reached the back doors just as Scott was coming through them, two heavy grass bags and a wicker basket smelling of pork and bread in his hands.

“Ah, thank you Mister Scott,” Gates smiled before send a glare to Silver. “Pay the man.”

Silver did so, handing over nearly half of her remaining coin. “I’ve one more stop before we return to the fort.”

“We’re _not_ stopping for a fuck,” Gates said.

“Of course not,” she agreed.

After staring her down for nearly a minute and getting nowhere, Gates rolled his eyes. “Where then?”

She grinned, “The brothel.”

Taking pity on Gates’ nerves, Silver refrained from stepping inside, merely waved over one of the boys stood in the door. She handed the boy the carpet bag, after pulling out the pouch, oil, wooden comb and something that looked remarkably long a fork and tucking all into her belt pocket, “Take this to Idelle, will you? And ask her to fetch three, no four bottles of watered wine?” She added after glancing at Gates and then held out a coin for the boy. “There’s a good lad.”

“You think getting them drunk is a good idea?” Gates asked as they waited.

Silver crossed her arms and snorted, “You’d rather they talk to each other sober?”

He tilted his head in a very dog-like way before nodding in agreement, “Point.”

The boy came back carrying four bottles in a sack and a heavy water skin over one shoulder.

“I think I love that woman,” Silver paid the boy half of the coin she had left and shouldered the water and wine before she turned to Gates. “Shall we?”

“Done shopping?” he snipped.

“Unless you can think of something else?” Silver bit back.

Gates snorted and started toward the fort. As they walked by the beach they took in the spectacle of the men getting rip-roaring drunk and spending money they hadn’t earned yet.

They were quiet most of the way up the hill and could only just make out the doorway in the torchlight when Gates asked, “What’s mountain ash?”

“It’s what’s created when you burn the aconite,” she answered softly.

“Aconite?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. “An herb, commonly known as wolf’s bane.”

“Jesus,” Gates hissed. “Someone grows this herb on the island?”

Silver stopped and stared at him incredulously before she leaned over and ripped an innocuous looking flower out of the sand by his feet. _“This_ is aconite.”

Gates stared at the familiar purple blossom in her hand before turning to look at the ground around their feet. Even in the dim, flickering light, he could see that the little flowers coated the sandy hillside like a weed. And he knew from living on the island for years, that the purple blossoms were _everywhere._ After a tense moment where it looked like Gates was swallowing back his fear, he started walking toward the fort again, only stopping just before the door to whisper, “I wouldn’t tell Flint about this, unless you want the entire island to burn.”

“He would do that?”

“To eradicate such an obvious weakness?” Gates settled the basket on the ground so he could bang on the door. “In a heartbeat.”

Hornigold’s man led them back toward the room. As they neared, the realized why Hornigold hadn’t come to meet them himself. Charles Vane was awake and cussing up a storm. When they walked in, Vane was face down on the floor, with Rackham actually sitting on him. Curled up on the floor where they’d left him was Billy, holding his head and occasionally moaning as if to hide from the world. Hornigold was sitting casually at the table which sported a white tablecloth, a bottle of wine and several glasses at his elbow. And on the far side of the table leaned Flint, who growled every time Vane got too loud.

As soon as the smell of food hit them, all three men quieted and perked up. Gates quickly dropped the bags and basket on the table and started dispersing the cooked pork, chicken and bread. Only once they all had something in their hands and mouths did Silver dare to step forward to deposit her own baggage on the table. She was aware of each pair of eyes on her and she removed the bottles of watered wine from the bag and hung the water skin on the back of a chair. Making eye contact with each, she carefully placed a bottle in front of Flint, then handed one to Billy who had yet to get up off the floor, then turned and offered one to Vane.

Ripping a chunk of pork with his teeth from the hank he held in his hand, Charles stalked forward and yanked the bottle out of hers, glaring with yellowed eyes the entire time. It was an intimidation tactic, plain and simple. And for most, it would have worked. But she was _Argent._

Keeping his gaze, she lowered her chin. “Shall we try words this time, Captain Vane?”

Vane growled at her. On the heels of it, Flint rumbled. It was such a low, guttural sound that Silver felt it more in her chest than her ears. It caused Vane to swallow his own threat and look away from her. But not before he spat, “Why should we listen to a thief? Thievery is punishable by death. By rights, we should gut you where you stand.”

Silver looked between them. She wasn’t sure if they were aware of just how much they were revealing about themselves, but from the lack of care they’d all taken so far, she doubted it. Instead of answering Vane, she turned to Flint. “I wasn’t attempting to steal from you, not at first and not on purpose. It was only after you killed Singleton that I ran-”

“You answer me, you don’t answer him, you _fucking-”_

Silver turned and sat down, lifting the small flower she’d neglected to drop when she’d educated Gates outside the fort. “Do you know what this is?” From the way Flint sucked in a breath, he knew what the flower was, but she could tell Vane, Rackham and Billy did not. “This pretty little flower is how I made you drop like stones, and if you don’t sit your ass down and listen to what I have to say, I’m going to turn you into a catatonic _fuck_ and watch as you drool to death on the floor.”

“Can’t throw dust in my face if you’re holding your throat closed,” Vane grit out.

Silver tilted her chin up and allowed them to see the sheen of dark oil she rubbed at her throat. “Want to try?”

It was a tense second of furtive glaring before Hornigold started laughing at all of them. “Please do sit, Captain Vane. I’d hate to have to watch you shit yourself to death in my fort over the course of a week.”

Never let it be said that Jack Rackham didn’t know when to step in. Like Gates had for Flint after the fight with Singleton, Rackham stepped forward and let his presence and low voice soothe his Captain as he talked him around. Gates took that opportunity to reach down and help Billy stagger to his feet and over to the table. “All right, lad?”

“Feel like I repeatedly took the butt of a gun to the head,” Billy whined. “What the fuck is that?”

“Aconite,” Flint answered, giving his quartermaster a look. “But I wasn’t aware you knew that.”

Gates tossed a thumb her way. “Didn’t until the boy told me just before we got back. How do you know it?”

“I’m the one that brought it from England,” Flint stated baldly. At their incredulous looks, he reluctantly explained, “I was newly turned just before I left London and needed it or I would have savaged passenger and crew alike during the full moon halfway through my trip.” All six men grimaced at that and Silver knew she was missing a story there. “I let it continue to grow here because I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t need it again. But I didn’t know you could turn it to powder and knock us unconscious with just a pinch in the air.”

Silver chewed her cheek when all eyes turned back to her, debating just how much to reveal to these woefully ignorant monsters. Before she could come to a decision, Flint leaned forward. _“Silver…”_

She looked up and was caught in his gaze. There was speculation there. And a certain knowledge. She stared for a moment before lifting her chin, acknowledging his unspoken question. “Yes.”

His eyes went wide before narrowing, and his nostrils flared. “You’re a hunter.”

Hornigold bolted to his feet, seemingly expanding with sudden rage, but where Flint and the wolves burned hot, the older man’s anger seemed to freeze the room. “I’ll not suffer a _hunter_ in my midst.”

“You’ll suffer this one,” Silver snarled turning on him in a flash to protect her now defenseless back. “Or do you think me ignorant and incapable of defending against what you are, _Horn-a-gold?”_

He stood, breath heaving like a fog and the room shrinking as he sneered, “You’ve hunted my kind into near extinction!”

“I’ve hunted none of your kind, but do not, for one moment, think me incapable if pushed. You’ve only to _pay attention_ to know that I could. Very easily. Besides,” Silver shifted upright and back, her tone of voice fading back into congenial. “I came here to get away from my family. Not spread their madness.”

Her change was whiplash fast and enough to tip all of the men in the room into uncertain. She watched as Flint turned a wary gaze onto Hornigold before glancing back at her and deciding that she was truthful, if nothing else.

“Ben,” Flint started quietly.

Hornigold looked like he wanted to stomp his foot but eventually gave a blustery exhale and sat down. He filled his glass to the brim and took a deep swallow of the wine before the room seemed to ripple back to regular size and grow warm enough to keep their breath from fogging.

With the return to normalcy came Vane’s flashing temper. “What the fuck are you?”

Hornigold snorted, “Not about to tell a pup how to use his ears and eyes if he doesn’t already know.”

Billy chuckled.

“Don’t pretend to know what he is, you don’t.” Vane snarled but his eyes flicked to the smug look on Flint’s face. “But you do. Why is that?”

Flint lifted a brow. “I read.”

“Not enough,” Silver breathed.

“No,” Flint agreed, leaning forward in his seat. “Certainly not enough to memorize a page I’ve had in my hand only a matter of hours.”

And they were finally talking. Silver sucked in a breath and lifted a hand. “Bring me paper and ink and I can transcribe everything on that page for you, word for word. But not at a whim. And not for nothing.”

“I’ve lost the pearls we were to pay you with,” Rackham groused. “Into the ocean when I fell chasing you about the wrecks.”

“How much?” Gates asked.

“Five thousand pesos worth,” Vane grimaced.

Flint winced and whistled through his teeth before meeting Gates’ gaze. “We don’t have that kind of cash in hand either with the way we’ve been hunting that merchant ship these past few months.”

“And we’re all out of favors,” Gates added ruefully before sending a glare toward Vane. “Used them blocking your attempt to get the ship out from under us.”

Vane rolled his shoulders as he leaned back in the chair. “Can’t blame me for your crew moral problems.”

“Can’t I?” Flint growled, leaning forward.

“I’m not asking for money, the pearls weren’t my idea in the first place,” Silver interjected before they could come to blows again. “And please, if we need to whip them out and measure, by all means if it means you two stop this constant back and forth. It’s giving me a headache.”

“I’d win anyway,” Vane bit out before he pointed a finger in her face. “And what do you mean, the pearls weren’t your idea?”

Silver silently cursed herself for that slip. “It was honorably done, in service to me. It’s not her fault you couldn’t catch me before I caught you.”

Vane lifted a lip at her, but Rackham interjected before his Captain could loose his temper again, “Yes, but she made the deal. And now she has to answer for it.”

Silver looked at Rackham. “I thought she answered to Miss Guthrie. You’d cross her, too?”

“‘Too’?” Vane sneered. “You claiming Max as well? What the fuck does she have up her cunt, solid gold?”

“Are we talking about the whore?” Flint slammed a hand on the table to get their attention. At Silver’s nod, he tipped his head to the side, as if studying a particularly interesting piece of meat. “Eleanor has no more claim to her. Max told her off this evening before we came after you for making her give you up to us.”

So Max was betrayed herself before she betrayed her partner. That was surprisingly easier to stomach than the alterative that she’d planned to give it up to Guthrie. Silver took a breath, “Then that’s my fee. I claim her.”

“Fuck you do,” Vane stood. “My men will need something to show for five thousand pesos. She can pay it off on her back.”

Flint kept Silver’s gaze as he tipped his head back and offered the deal. “Your men will get something.”

“You offering _your_ ass?” Vane swung to Flint, looming over him and only backing down when Flint shot to his feet, flashing his eyes in anger and lifting a lip.

“Without the _Urca_ we will have nothing. Taking that ship will require the assistance of another. We’ll need a consort.”

Vane stilled. “You asking?”

“I’m offering you the chance.” When Vane waited a touch too long staring at the other man, Flint showed teeth and growled, “It’s the only time I’ll offer.”

“Don’t be a fool, Charles,” Rackham huffed.

“Shut up, Jack,” Vane didn’t look away from Flint. “You get your ship in shape and get _that-”_ he pointed a finger at Silver “-under control and I’ll talk terms.”

Flint lifted a palm and spit into it before offering it to the other Captain. Vane lifted a lip, spit in Flint’s hand instead of his own, and then slapped his own palm down, sealing their bargain. Then he reached across the table, grabbed another hunk of meat and the bottle of watered wine, and stalked from the room. Most of the tension went with him.

“Well, I’ll say this for you, Silver,” Hornigold chuckled. “You certainly don’t do things by half.”

Silver slumped back in her chair. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Rackham tipped his head back and heaved a sigh before he straightened and sent a look at Gates. “I’ll find you in the morning. We’ll talk about terms then. I’m too fucking exhausted to think straight right now.” When Gates nodded, Rackham grabbed his own handful of food and a bottle and followed his Captain out.

Before Silver could relax, Flint crossed the room in two strides, had a hand on either arm of her chair trapping her as he leaned forward to threaten an inch from her face, “If you ever douse me with ash like that again, I don’t care if you bathe in that shite, I will tear your throat out. With my teeth. Am I understood?”

She had sucked in a slow breath when he invaded her space, and couldn’t help but stare back into fierce blue eyes stoked with orange embers as he threatened her. But capitulation? She tipped her chin up to him. “Don’t do anything foolish and I won’t have to.”

She watched his pupils contract at her challenge, but instead of getting angry, he was amused. “Good enough. Billy,” Flint stood and she could breathe again. “See to our new investment.”

“Me?” Billy whined, still obviously nursing a headache.

“Get to Guthrie’s, get a room for the rest of the night and don’t take your eyes off. Got it?” At the boatswain’s nod, Flint turned to his quartermaster. “I need you to ready our guest for travel in the morning. I’ll ride out tonight to let her know you’re coming.”

“Aye, Captain,” Gates grimaced.

And then Flint grabbed his share of the food and wine and was out the door.

* * *

The next morning found Silver waking from yet another restless night spent in the company of a snoring pirate to another menial morning spent, instead of manual labor, bent over a desk, painstakingly writing out the schedule as she’d memorized only last night. After months of _not_ having a quill in her hand, it was an interesting exercise in patience and memory.

One that the blond woman glaring at her from the other side of the desk didn’t seem to appreciate. After only a few carefully scratched sentences, the woman huffed in frustration and stood in order to stalk around the room. When Silver glanced at Billy sitting beside her, she was hard pressed not to grin at the way he rolled his eyes. Seems the little pirate princess was feared for her influence and not for her attitude.

Only a few seconds had gone by after the annoyed Miss Guthrie took her seat when her man Scott opened the door and demanded her attention. Silver took the opportunity to stretch her hand and turn her head, catching Billy’s gaze as they both listened to Scott inform Miss Guthrie of a missing person.

_“She’s gone? Are you sure?”_

_“One of the whores helped her passed the guards. She said Max had a boat waiting-”_

Silver didn’t hear the next part, her mind to caught up in the fact that Max had disappeared. Even Billy’s gaze went a little wide when he understood what had happened and what it might mean for them. _Her fee was gone_.

“ _I told her I would protect her. Did she not believe me?_ ” her tone was in turns pleading and then scathing, “ _She chose this. Not me_.”

And Silver watched as the merchant pirate princess flounced back into her chair, leaned forward over crossed arms to frown at her. On a man, hell on _Flint,_ that stance might have been intimidating. On this slip of a girl, it made her look like a disgruntled kitten and Silver was hard-pressed not to coo in her direction just to see her hiss and wave her claws.

“Is something wrong?”

Eleanor Guthrie sneered. “You better be worth it.”

If she’d been a man and the thief Miss Guthrie believed her to be, Silver might have shrugged that off and continued writing but for something Hornigold told her last night as they were departing his fort.

Hornigold stopped her with a hand on her arm as Billy and Gates spoke on the other side of the door. “I commend you, Silver, for handling this as well as you did, but I think you need to keep something in mind if you are about to do what I think you are.”

Silver turned to the old turnskin. “And what’s that?”

“That no matter how many lies they tell themselves, no matter how many stories they convince themselves they’re part of; they are all just thieves awaiting the noose.”

“And you?” Silver whispered, taking in the shimmer of his silvered hair for what it actually was. “Where do you fall in this story?”

Hornigold heaved a sigh as he looked out to sea. “I lost what made my kind unique many years ago. I did it to myself, because it was the only way I knew I would survive here.”

Silver tried not to stare in horror before she, too, turned to look out at the ocean. “And what is it you think I am planning on doing here?”

He’d smiled and touched a gentle hand to the back of hers. “I would have gladly laid my head in your lap were I younger and whole.”

That old sea-dog had mutilated himself in an effort to be free. These pirates rode the edge of their control in an effort to exact every bit of life from this meagre existence on the edge of the civilized world. But this girl had all the advantages of the moneyed gentry even here, an obvious education, all the freedoms allowed by this place and the protections assumed by her father’s influence. It was not a surprise to Silver that Miss Guthrie acted the spoiled shrew. What was a surprise, was that she wasn’t about to let this slip of a girl assume _any_ kind of authority over her. Not after what _she’d_ given up.

Silver breathed in through her nose and very carefully set the quill into the small ink bottle. Then she leaned back in the chair and sat, quietly, patiently and without any intention to continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone wanna take a guess as what I made Hornigold into?


	4. IV.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here go some major changes, though I must offer that those outside of Silver's direct influence are going to act to character. So you'll read some familiar conversations. But the balance is already shifting...

_**1715 – Nassau, New Providence Island** _

Miss Guthrie frowned at Silver in confusion. “What are you doing? Finish writing.”

“I don’t think so,” Silver started.

“Fucking Christ, Silver,” Billy groaned, lowering his head to his crossed arms. “Her, too?”

“Apparently,” she shrugged.

“What is this?” Eleanor asked.

“Where is Max?” Silver countered.

Eleanor sat back, surprise on her face. “You actually care what happens to the whore you lured into your selfish scheme-”

“Hold on,” Silver bit out. “I specifically tried to get her out of any scheme but she refused.”

“I know all I need to know about the kind of man you are,” Eleanor hissed. “Now get back to writing that schedule.”

Silver grit her teeth, “Not without Max.”

“Ah, shit,” Billy muttered.

Eleanor Guthrie glanced between the two of them, a look of dawning anger on her face. “I don’t know what kind of power you think you have here-”

Silver lifted a hand and decided to ignore the way Billy flinched back from her, though she noted the way Eleanor’s eyes turned wary at the reaction. Good. “Let me make something very clear, Miss Guthrie. I don’t work for you, I don’t care for your father’s shipping business,” – and oh, she could see how _that_ irritated – “And I will be perfectly happy to walk away, right now, and let you deal with two very angry captains if you ever cast the blame for your emotional hurt onto me again.”

Eleanor scoffed, “My emotional hurt-”

“Is none of my business,” Silver interrupted. “Let’s keep it that way.”

The silent staring match lasted until Flint walked into the room followed by Gates. “What’s going on here?”

Silver just lifted a brow but Eleanor grinned, thinking she had the upper hand now. “Your thief here refuses to finish writing the schedule because Max has disappeared.”

“Silver’s not a thief,” Flint frowned and turned to look at Gates. “The whore left?” When Gates just shrugged, Flint turned back to the room. “Why did the whore leave?”

Eleanor lifted her chin. “She obviously didn’t believe I could protect her from Charles.”

All three men blinked at her before glancing between themselves. Flint looked at Gates, Gates looked at Billy, who just shrugged and pointed at Silver. Gates finally sighed and turned back to his Captain. “I think we forgot to tell her.”

“Tell her what?” Eleanor frowned. “What am I missing?”

“The whore didn’t need protection from Vane,” Flint explained. “He gave her to Silver.”

“What?” Eleanor squawked, glancing quickly at Silver only to look away just as fast. “Why would-”

But the men were ignoring her. Flint pulled on his beard as he addressed Gates. “Do you think Vane would have-?”

“No,” Gates shook his head. “He wouldn’t have cared. But Jack?”

Both men grimaced. “Anne Bonny.”

“Excuse me,” Eleanor nearly shouted. “But what the hell are you two talking about? And why the hell are you letting the _thief_ dictate terms?”

Flint turned his gaze on her and it was hard enough to quell her continued protests. Then he turned to Gates. “Find Rackham, we need to come to terms as soon as possible. Figure out if Bonny has done something to the whore. We’ll bring her back,” Flint said to Sliver as Gates strode out the door. “Please finish the schedule. Mistress Guthrie,” Flint finally addressed the spitting blond. “May I have a word?”

As soon as Eleanor and Flint left the room, Billy dropped his head onto his arms with a groan. Silver smirked and leaned forward, gripping the quill and starting on the schedule once more.

“Admit it, Billy,” Silver crooned at him. “You’re starting to like me.”

“I think you might be the death of me,” Billy rumbled from his arms. When he got no quip in reply, he lifted his head only to find Silver’s pale eyes focused on him.

“Oh no, Billy,” Silver whispered. “Quite the opposite.”

Billy blinked at her. “How’s that going for you?”

When she spoke this time, it was so quiet that Billy wasn’t sure how he was hearing her. “Focus on your hearing. Focus on my voice to the exclusion of all else. Close your eyes. Can you hear the way my tongue and lips move when I form my words? Can you hear the clicking in my throat? Can you hear the wind sawing in through my nose, down into my lungs and back out through my mouth?”

Entranced, Billy couldn’t help but do as Silver said, and was surprised to find that he could hear all those things. When he hummed his agreement, he almost startled himself out of his skin by the sheer noise his own throat was making, so focused had he been on the minute sounds coming from another’s. His eyes flew open and he met Silver grin. That smile moved, speaking words that Billy couldn’t rightly make out unless his ear was pressed to those lips.

“How’d you do that?”

“Not me,” Silver spoke at a normal tone again, turning back to the quill and paper and scratching out a few more words. “That was all you, but I’m betting no one taught you how to do that, did they?”

“You think the Captain and Gates are keeping things from me?”

Silver tipped her head, lifting her quill before dipping in for more ink as she thought about that. “No, not deliberately, anyway.” She finished a sentence before turning to look at Billy again. “You were bitten, weren’t you?”

Billy swallowed at the memory. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You heard Flint last night, he was newly turned on his voyage here.” Silver tipped her head tot eh side and narrowed her gaze, looking at something beyond the room. “I’m betting he doesn’t really know how to do what I just showed you any more than Gates does. Have you ever seen one of you with red eyes?”

Billy blinked at the question. “What?”

“Red eyes. You all seem to have yellow eyes. Well,” Silver smirked. “Mostly yellow. But I haven’t seen anyone with red eyes yet.”

“Jack Rackham's eyes are blue.”

Silver tilted her head. That was interesting but, “Still not an alpha.”

Billy hummed. “Why do we need an alpha?”

“You don’t, not necessarily,” Silver dipped her pen and wrote another line of the schedule. “An alpha merely helps to stabilize a pack. Those instincts you have that are all heightened during the full moon, having an alpha to lean on lets you have more control, lets you heal faster, use your heightened senses easier.” She pulled away her quill and read over what she had so far. Three more lines should do for now. She dipped for more ink. “An alpha also negates the need to fight among yourselves in a hierarchy because with an alpha at the top, there’s no need to prove yourself against one of your pack mates.”

As she spoke, Flint and Eleanor filed back into the room, followed by Gates and Scott only a few moments later.

“How do you know all this?” Gates asked as he took a seat to her left.

“I was raised to hunt your kind,” Silver made sure not to meet their eyes as she dipped her quill once more into the inkwell. “The ma’am’s used to tell bedtimes stories of how to recognize the weaknesses of a pack to all the boys in the orphanage. If the boys didn’t recite what they’d learned correctly, food was withheld for the evening. I learned very quickly.”

All of which was true, although misleading. She hadn’t been one of those boys. And despite her suspicion that they wouldn’t know how to recognize a lie from her body if she told one, she wasn’t about to get into the habit of lying outright to a creature that _could_ discern the truth if they only applied themselves.

“So your memory is trained. That explains a lot,” Flint murmured, leaning back against the window on the other side of the desk.

Silver finished the last sentence, did a quick read through to make sure it was accurate and then held it up. “Done.”

After it was passed from Gates to Flint and the Captain spent a long minute reading through it, he looked up and met her eyes. “Where’s the rest?”

Smart man. “Pardon?”

“The _Urca_ has a planned stop to take on water along the coast of Florida. That’s the point where they are most vulnerable to attack. This,” Flint replied calmly, though his stance was anything but. “Describes a course that ends miles short of the coast. Where’s the rest of the course?”

Silver leaned forward. “Well, I can’t exactly write that down, can I?”

“Why not?” Billy protested.

Oh, Billy. “Well, you all seem rather angry with me,” Silver explained, aware of the way Flint’s expression turned sharp. “And bargains aside, if I were to write that down, I don’t trust you not to kill me right here.”

After a tense moment Billy huffed. “I say we bring Joji in here. He’ll have it out of him in ten minutes.”

Flint almost rolled his eyes as he turned away, but Silver could see that both Eleanor and Gates were thinking about it and had to nip that idea in the bud. “Torture won’t help you.”

“Hmm, you haven’t see Joji work.”

“No,” Silver turned to look him in the eye. “I mean just because I’m still here doesn’t mean I couldn’t leave whenever I’d like.” She saw the way that threat tightened Flint’s shoulders and made both Billy and Gates flinch a little, but she also saw that Eleanor didn’t understand and would argue for it unless she convinced the girl otherwise. “Look, I want this to work or I wouldn’t have stayed, but like I told you last night, not without nothing and not for a whim.”

Eleanor frowned. “You discussed this last night?”

Flint turned away from the window to pierce her with gaze. “We’ll get the whore back.”

“Jack has her,” Gates interjected. “He assures me she’ll be released to you once the Captains come to terms.”

Silver nodded, never looking away from Flint. “That’s the whim. But don’t pretend you weren’t pleased to use that as an excuse to get Captain Vane on the back foot so that he would have no choice but to bargain with you for the chance to consort. Now give me something other than nothing.”

As she and Flint stared at each other, Gates filled in Eleanor. “They bargained the right of Max’s payment from Captain Vane to Silver so that Vane and his crew would have the chance at a score.”

 _“Max’s_ payment.” Eleanor grit out.

Silver met her eyes. “I wanted to give the schedule to you, so that you could give it to Flint and there would be no need for threats of violence and retribution against a thief. Max went to Vane instead to get payment for her services. I didn’t back out once I found out because I knew she’d be forfeit for the deal. A deal which fell through the moment you forced her to give Flint the information about it.” She saw how every word affected the girl like a blow but couldn’t feel sorry for informing the pirate princess of it. One should know the repercussions of one’s actions, good _and_ bad. It was a lesson she’d learned young and well.

“And this consort business?” Eleanor turned from them, grasping at anything to distance herself from blame. “Why Charles? Why not Hornigold?”

Gates answered after a moment of thought. “The _Ranger_ is twice the ship the _Lion_ is, more men, more guns, and her Captain is strong in a fight; second only to Flint. We’ll need all the strength we can get in the fight for the _Urca.”_

“So,” Flint leaned forward over the desk, once more commanding Silver’s attention. “How do we come to an agreement here?”

Silver smiled at him. “What if I were to remain with your crew?” She heard Billy scoff beside her but could see the intrigued tilt of Flint’s head. “That way, when the time comes, I’ll be right by your side ready to give you the information you need. If it’s in any way incorrect, well. You can do with me what you will.”

“What’s to stop you from running the first chance you get?”

“As a member of you crew, I’d get a share of the prize.”

Flint smirked. “And when the _Urca’s_ ours? What’s to stop me from killing you anyway?”

“Well, that’s a few weeks from now, isn’t it?” Silver glanced at each one of their faces; Gates looked entertained, Billy was annoyed, Eleanor was subdued, but it was Flint who mattered most here. “We might be friends by then.”

Gates started laughing and Flint’s face eased from a smirk into something resembling a genuine smile before he dipped his chin toward Eleanor. “Good enough for you?”

Silver watched as Eleanor pulled herself up by her boot straps and could only admire the younger woman for being able to do it with dignity. After Gates escorted a protesting Billy out the door, Flint and Eleanor got down to business, though there was a tension there that Silver didn’t fully understand between Eleanor and her man Scott. They discussed using Eleanor’s upper room to bargain with Vane. But after that was through, and both Scott and Eleanor had left the office, Flint looked directly at her. “Answer me one thing.”

“If I can,” Silver hedged.

“Why not just hand me the page once you knew I was looking for it? Why go through all of this if it wasn’t for extra coin?”

“Two reasons,” Silver stood and turned to follow him out the door, tucking her vest in and making sure she was covered. “One, I didn’t know what I had until Max was already involved, and as that was my fault I wasn’t about to hang her out to dry with Vane’s crew if I could help it.”

“Honorable,” Flint stopped in the doorway. “And two?”

“I didn’t know you were looking for it until that speech right before the fight with Singleton. And I couldn’t just hand it over, then, could I?”

Flint eyed her for a moment longer than she was comfortable with before he asked, rather pointedly, “What did you see?”

“Your eyes.” Silver answered bluntly. “They flashed orange after Singleton’s heart stopped.”

“Orange?”

“Not quite alpha, stronger than a beta. It’s why Vane bends to your will, otherwise I suspect he’d be the dominant wolf on this island.”

He snorted, “I noticed.” Then he walked out and Silver followed.

She was too busy fixing her belt and vest to notice the tension between Billy and Gates until Billy barked at her to follow him. But when she looked up at Gates for an explanation, he only widened his eyes at her. “You heard ‘im.”

Silver rolled her eyes and followed the loping figure of Billy down to the beach where the men had set up tents. From the way Billy made sure she was stuck peeling potatoes with Randall, she understood very quickly that Billy was upset with her, for one reason or another. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have cause, but she couldn’t have the ship’s boatswain at odds with her. Randall’s cold attitude toward her was easy enough to understand; he thought she was a threat to his position. She figured despite his simplicity, he knew enough to keep himself useful to the crew that felt guilty for beating him nearly to death, and her being a ‘boy’ seemed to be the only thing keeping Randall from turning completely hostile. It was easy enough to reassure him that she needed his help still. It was also easy enough to pay attention and watch while Billy made the rounds, asking pointed questions and genuinely looking annoyed. A few questions to Randall and a like minded gunner and Silver found herself some leverage in the remnants of a mutiny.  
Informing Billy made her aware that despite his actions and words, there was actually a mind under those pretty muscles.

“Why tell me?” Billy looked askance.

Silver felt the way he assessed her with suddenly shrewd eyes. “I want to live,” she stated baldly. “And getting on your side seemed the quickest way to achieve that. Plus I feel like I owe you.” It was as close to an apology for knocking him out as she would offer.

Billy shrugged and stared at the door behind which Randall, Turk and Morley were no doubt plotting. “Let me handle this. You get back to cooking for the crew,” Billy grabbed her by the shoulder and started her back toward the beach.

Silver sighed but went easily enough, putting the rest of it out of her mind until a clamor caught her attention just as evening was beginning to fall. She spent most of the afternoon preparing food in between visiting specific vendors and talking with Logan about certain attributes of sulfur, saltpeter, and the different consistencies and effects therein. While they worked, she secreted a bit of mountain ash into the mixture, knowing it would be useful against _all_ the inhabitants of the island. Having laid in several items of interest, Silver was clutching one of the small glass baubles in her hand when a shout went up. Running out of the cooking tent, she noticed a gathering at the end of the main road.

The first thing she noticed was Rackham running off toward the tents, his woman hiding behind one of the pillars, and a small crowd gathered around three bodies in the sand. It took her a moment to realize that they were holding Max down and raping her. And no one was doing a god damned thing.

She moved forward, catching Anne Bonny’s eyes as she did, drawing a knife and holding the bauble aloft for Anne to see. Being a formidable and experience warrior, Anne Bonny knew a weapon when she saw one, even if she didn’t know what exactly that weapon did. She grabbed a torch and moved forward to join Silver, pulling her knives as she moved.

Just as they breached the circle surrounding Max and those assaulting her, Eleanor burst through with a piece of wood she used like a club. She beat off the two men holding Max down and threatened the others off enough that Silver could slide in and help a shaking Max to her feet. She kept the knife in easy reach but switched the bauble to her other hand so that the wick was closer to Anne Bonny who still held a torch aloft. Eleanor didn’t seem to notice the movement behind her as she looked for someone to blame. Silver was looking right at Anne Bonny when Eleanor said “You did this!” Silver recognized that look. Guilt. A quick look found Eleanor accusing Vane of the misdeed, and Silver knew things were precarious and could easily tip out of hand if she didn’t do something soon.

Max trembled against her, her legs shaking and her hands clutching as both Anne Bonny and Silver made sure her bruised and bloodied flesh was covered. “Can you move?” Silver whispered against her ear.

Max tightened her fingers on her vest. “If you can get me out of here, I can fly,” she hissed back.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Eleanor started, her breaths sawing out of her throat.

Silver knew she had minutes, if not seconds to salvage this. “Anne,” she murmured, glancing down at the torch in the woman’s hand meaningfully, “If you can, I need you to scream.”

Anne’s eyes widened before narrowing and glancing around. Then she nodded.

“You are, all of you,” Eleanor panted, her emotions getting the better of her. “This whole crew, as of right now, _finished!”_

It was time, Silver lifted the bauble and Anne Bonny lit it. “It’s not all their fault, Miss Guthrie.” Silver made her voice low but resonating, so that everyone in that silent circle could hear her.

Eleanor turned on her like a cat backed into a corner and spit, “You!”

“Me,” Silver smiled, watching as the wick burned down. Almost… “Remember who Max belongs to now? It isn’t you.” She felt Max stiffen in her arms and knew there would be an explanation in her future. “So it’s not on you to defend her.”

 _“This_ is what you call defending her?” she gestured to the men just now pulling themselves together at the edge of the crowd.

Silver memorized their faces before smiling at them with her teeth. “No. This is.”

The burning wick reached the mouth of the bauble and she tossed it into the air. Every eye followed it. Every eye but hers, Max’s whose face was tucked against Silver’s throat, and Anne Bonny who had her eyes squeezed closed and her mouth open, sucking in a breath as the impromptu grenade exploded with more _flash_ than _bang,_ blinding everyone who looked.

Anne Bonny _screamed._

Silver moved. She barreled across the sand with Max held close, grabbing the hand of Eleanor who was cringing and covering her ears as she moved toward the doorway where she’d seen both Flint and Gates standing, watching the proceedings. Flint was squinting, shaking his head, but blinking through the sudden blindness and vertigo caused by a banshee scream by the time she climbed the steps with Max against her body and Eleanor stumbling behind.

 _“Inside,”_ she hissed as she towed Max passed the men. Flint wasted no time grabbing Eleanor and pushing both her and Gates beyond the main room and into Eleanor’s office. The men smelled of pork and wine; they must have just come from a meal after finishing coming to terms with Vane and Rackham. Which begged the question; why had Eleanor come from the beach? Silver guided Max to the couch in the corner of the room, dropping her carefully onto it and pulling the shawl laid over the back around her shoulders when she shivered again.

“What did you mean,” Max reached out and grabbed her lapel before she could stand. “I don’t belong to her?”

Before Silver could formulate a reply, Eleanor was there, shoving her away. “Get the fuck away from her!”

A Silver sprawled on the floor in an ungainly heap, Eleanor crowded Max against the sofa, not realizing or not caring at how Max leaned away from her as she spewed apologies and promises of protection. And Silver had enough.

“Silver,” Flint warned as she gained her feet.

She saw him reaching for her out of the corner of her eye, but she dodged his hand and pulled Eleanor up off the sofa, spinning her around so that her body was between Eleanor and Max, and slapped Eleanor across the face.

It wasn’t a hard hit, Silver doubted it would even bruise – she knew just how hard, how much damage skin could take before it split and bled – but it was jarring enough that it snapped Eleanor out of the hysterical haze she’d built herself up to in front of that crowd. Silver shook her for good measure, just in case. “You _will_ not traumatize Max further. She’s suffered enough tonight.”

Eleanor cupped her cheek and gave Silver such a hateful look that Silver half expected to be lit on fire.

While the young woman regained her sense, Silver turned to the other people in the room. Thankfully, it was still only Flint and Gates. She looked beyond Flint’s assessing gaze and caught Gates’ eye. “Water, please, Mister Gates. A pitcher and several soft cloths.” Gates darted his gaze at Max before giving her a nod and leaving the room just as Scott entered. She caught his stony look. “Could you have someone fetch Idelle from the brothel? Tell her to bring warm clothes for Max?”

Scott pulled himself up, his eyes flicking to Eleanor and back before he gave a curt nod and about-faced. Then it was just her, Max, Eleanor and Flint standing unobtrusively in the shadows.

Eleanor took a step forward and Silver noted the incensed expression. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Silver glanced at Flint’s raised brow and crossed arms and knew she’d have to handle this one on her own. “I’m sorry.”

Eleanor started. “What?”

“I didn’t know how else to get you from her and make you calm down without throwing you over my shoulder and tossing you to the waves. I assumed you’d rather not be exposed to that kind of ridicule, so I went with expediency.”

Before Eleanor could argue further, Max murmured, “We could have left.” Both Eleanor and Flint looked down and noticed what Silver had been aware of for the past few minutes; that Max was clutching Silver’s hand and burying her face in Silver’s thigh. “I could have been free. Neither Vane nor Silver did this to me.” Max lifted her gaze and met Eleanor’s stricken one. “You did. Until the debt is paid,” Max lifted her gaze to Silver’s. “I am yours.”

Eleanor straightened and gave Silver a scathing look before she stormed out of the office. A scuffle just outside the door brought Flint’s head up and he took two strides forward to block whoever was out there from coming in. Silver had an idea who it was, and with a squeeze to Max’s hand and a promise to return, Silver walked to the door. Her expression must have been something fierce because Flint backed away without a word. She stepped through the door and noticed three people standing just beyond it. Rackham and Anne Bonny stepped to the side to avoid her. But her target was obvious.

Vane’s eyes widened at her approach and he backed up two steps, far enough that he stumbled down the few stairs to Eleanor’s office, before he caught himself and squared up against her. But Silver didn’t stop until she was in Vane’s face. “You had her the whole day,” She said quietly, the menace apparent in her tone. “You knew since _last night_ that she was no longer on your account, yet you let your men have her.”

Vane lifted a lip but he turned his face aside. “She’d already been given to the men. I couldn’t pull her away until after we’d set terms with Flint.”

Silver tipped her head and studied his face. He was telling the truth, and from the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes, she knew he felt guilty for it. But it wasn’t until she followed his gaze that she understood. Anne Bonny. When her sights landed on the banshee, she noticed both Anne straightening from her guilty slouch and Jack Rackham trying to position himself in front of his mate without presenting a threat to Silver. It was an interesting conundrum, and one she’d have to think on later. But as she turned to the banshee, Anny Bonny snarled and took a step toward Silver, already suspecting that Silver was the bigger threat.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed all four wolves step forward; to protect her or Bonny, she didn’t know, but she didn’t let it stop her as she reached for her pouch and pulled out the last thing Able had given to her the night before. A slim tuning fork. Anne Bonny stopped at the sight of the fork, and so did everyone else, not understanding how that was a weapon until Silver flicked it with a fingernail and a high, clear tone pealed out. Bonny’s eyes rolled up in her head as she crumbled to the floor before Jack could lunge forward fast enough to catch her.

Rackham flashed blue eyes at her and growled, “What did you do?”

“Nothing permanent,” Silver assured him before looking at Vane. “But the only reason I don’t take payment out of her hide _and yours_ is because she helped me free Max from your men earlier. Don’t cross me again.”

She waited and kept Vane’s gaze, even when Gates returned with the water and Scott returned with Idelle. The woman scurried inside, a bundle of clothing in her arms. Finally Vane blinked at her and gave a slight nod.

Silver turned back to Rackham. “She’ll be fine in about an hour. She may even thank me for it.” Then she turned around and strode by a smirking Flint.

* * *

The next few days Silver saw very little of Flint and Gates and almost nothing of Vane and Rackham as the men figured a plan and worked out their crew’s differences. Eleanor had banned Silver from her establishment, which was fine because she hadn’t kept up the ban on Vane’s crew and there were no argument’s from that quarter beyond a few grumbling from a couple of Vane’s men, most notably the man who had been raping Max at the time. Silver wasn’t really worried about it though, because along with those grumblings came a wash of men from every crew on the island sidling up to her, asking about her ‘magic’ and being helpful so as not to be on her bad side. Silver shook her head at their superstitious antics and made sure that their bellies were full. As long as the men had no complaints, they would harbor no ill will toward her.

The mornings were spent feeding the men while they grounded the ship at high tide and tipped her to one side as the water rushed out then quickly scaled the barnacles from her hull and re-tarred before the water came back in that afternoon. They spent two days on the port side and then another two on the starboard before finally pulling her far enough to expose her keel.

Her afternoons were spent in the brothel with Max, learning the ins and outs of the inhabitants on the island. Max had ingratiated herself to Noonan, who was grateful that Silver had returned one of his ‘best earners’ and didn’t give him the ‘evil eye’ or whatever that was. Silver rolled her eyes when Max informed her of that tidbit.

Being around the women was a relief in one major way; Max and Idelle were the only two people on the entire Island who knew of Silver’s true gender, though Silver figured Hornigold had guessed it by the end of that first night, and she wondered if Flint suspected. Whether or not he paid attention to his more acute senses and rather how much he knew of _what_ he was sensing were the questions she had there. But until he said something, she wasn’t about to broach the subject. Being around the men constantly was a little harder, especially in the mornings. She got into the habit was walking into the sea, clothes and all, first thing in the morning to relieve herself and wash her clothes without disrobing in any way that would reveal her true sex to her crewmates. Being a man and having ‘magic’ was one thing; being a woman would automatically brand her a witch and untrustworthy.

Of all the crew, it was Logan who was the easiest to be around. He often accompanied her to the brothel to see his sweet Charlotte, had no fear of her ‘magic’ because he’d helped create the improvised flashbang, and frequently defended her to the others for having a whore all to herself by pointing out that Max would still take on clients, _after_ she healed – which was enough of a reminder of being raped that the men turned away shamefaced.

Things got a little more tense in town when the _Andromache_ was spotted. Silver didn’t understand why until Logan informed her that it was a legitimate merchant ship from Boston carrying goods direct to and from the Guthrie’s shipping company. She caught some goings on between Billy and Morley and didn’t think much of it, but she dutifully informed the Captain during the few moments he spent in the tents on the beach only to be snapped at for her trouble. So she kept a wide birth from Flint and an eye on Billy Bones.

And then Eleanor Guthrie showed up.

Silver wasn’t given to flights of fancy or bad omens, but not a few minutes later the men were screaming and the ship was in danger of tearing her masts right out of her hull. And then Randall was screaming and both Flint and Morley were on the far side trying to dig him out. When Eleanor implied that it was taking too long Silver could only offer her butcher’s knife to Flint before fear of the weight buckling above her drove her to run.

It was a mess all around and it threw most of the men. They were quiet for the rest of the evening as they shifted cargo and prepared to move the ship. When Flint came to her, his face still covered in gore and asked what she knew, she told him, knowing what it might lead a man of Flint’s caliber to do.

And what she might have to do to keep him in hand.


	5. V.

_**1715 – West Indies** _

Silver had no idea about the _Andromache_ leaving and taking her promised guns until her and the rest of the crew were being hurried on board the _Walrus_ in the middle of the night to chase her and Captain Bryson down. She decided Flint’s “ _Stay in the galley and out of sight until and unless I call for you_ ,” was a guideline and helped the men where she could and stayed out of the way when she couldn’t. It wasn’t until mid-morning just after they’d spotted the _Andromache’s_ sails that Billy found her in the galley.

“Promise me you’re not screwing this crew over,” he started, his eyes flicking back and forth as he made sure they were alone for this conversation. “Promise me the prize is real and worth all this.”

Silver crossed her arms and leaned back against the doorway of the galley. “And how would you like me to do that?” Billy looked at her, and Silver understood then. “You’re not really worried about me or the prize, are you?”

He heaved a heavy sigh and mirrored her stance on the other side of the door. It put them very close; close enough for her to see the way Billy carried guilt and worry on his face. “The way he talks… sometimes it’s like he knows things the rest of us cannot even comprehend. And then people die. How am I to trust a man like that?”

“Is this about Morley?”

Billy’s eyes went wide and he sucked in a breath until Silver thought he’d bolt. _“How_ did he know about Morley? How _could_ he know unless-”

“I told him,” Silver interrupted, knowing exactly where that supposition was going. “I told him like I told you that Morley, Randall and Turk were all the last of his mutiny. I also told him about your late night conversation with Morley and how I was worried that the weight of keeping this secret from the men was wearing on you. But before you go accusing him of deliberately leaving Morley to be quashed by the _Walrus,_ let me tell you that he didn’t care.”

Billy's look of affront and betrayal turned into confusion. “What?”

“He didn’t care, Billy,” Silver asserted with a huff. “He told me off for the warning; said you were a dutiful boatswain who had the loyalty of the crew and that he trusted you a thousand times more than he would ever trust me. So what is it that you’re actually worried about?”

Billy’s expression turned to wonder and then chagrin. “He told me that the crew needed certainty.”

“And you’re not certain about Flint or his goals, is that it?”

“Or you,” Billy added, looking more like the fearless boatswain she’d first met.

Silver eyed him for a moment before she sighed and straightened, putting her face just below his, even as he slouched against the doorframe. “I could tell you until I’m blue in the face and nothing I could say would make you feel certain until the prize is within sight. So ignore my words; what do your instincts tell you?”

Billy met her gaze, eyes darting back and forth as he breathed and thought. After a long minute, he took a deep breath and nodded. The moment was broken by Flint’s inarticulate yelling. He started to move toward the door and Silver reached out and touched his arm.

“I really didn’t intent to steal from anyone,” she offered. “What can I say to allay your fears?”

Billy glanced at her over his shoulder. “Tell me your reasons.”

“Would you trust what I say?” at his nod, she sighed. “Then once we’re done with this I’ll tell you some of it. Will that suffice?”

“We dance the dance,” Billy mumbled before heading to ward the deck.

* * *

Silver watched as the men worked the ship, using every yard of sail and every cleat on the rail to pull rope and arch the yardarms into the wind to gain on the _Andromache._ She marveled at the way Flint seemed to just know how much the ship could take, listened to the way the masts groaned and canvas wailed and the bow dipped in the waves as she heaved beneath their feet and through the waves at an amazing seven and a half knots to slowly catch the their prey. It took the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon but they were finally closing the distance.

Silver was amazed at the way the men slowly gathered themselves, pulling their tension into stillness that she knew would explode across the _Andromache’s_ decks. She made what she could for them to eat with what little supplies the men had dragged on board before they left harbor in Nassau, but it wasn’t much. When Logan found her just after the others had subsided on a few handfuls of stewed potatoes and carrots and peeled oranges, she knew she wasn’t the only one without supplies.

“The shelves in the armory are empty,” Logan complained. “We’ve never taken on a ship with so little shot and powder. Billy even gave Dufresne a pistol.”

Silver lifted her head, “What’s that mean?”

“You’ll be fighting with us, boy,” Logan sighed and held out a long oil-wrapped cloth. “You asked a couple days ago, I got it the afternoon before we left.”

Silver took the package and felt the familiar shape inside it and couldn’t help the grin that spread on her face. “Oh, I think I might actually enjoy this.”

Then Billy laid out Flint’s plan.

After all was hashed out, Silver joined Beauclerc on the foremast top armor hidden behind the canvas of the jib as they waited for the _Andromache_ to heave port so that he could take shots at whoever stood at the helm. Her job was twofold; reload the two smoothbore long guns Beauclerc carried, and use her bow and arrows to take out the gunners on the deck to protect the vanguard as they went over the rail.

The bow Logan had found for her was a small work of art. A short compound bow with a layer of horn on the inner face to resist compression and a layer of sinew on the outer face to resist expansion would give it great power and distance, it curved delicately and was stained dark and oiled until it looked like some kind of centerpiece instead of a weapon of war. Short enough to be used from horseback and strong enough to punch through all but steel plate armor at two hundred paces, it was a weapon matched only by English long bows and outpaced only by the long gun. Even the arrows were well made; neatly fletched with grey goose feathers and tipped with steal heads, some barbed, some narrow, each meant for a specific purpose and Silver swore to retrieve each one.

As the ship closed the distance, tensions rose and the men prepared. Then Flint’s “ _There she goes!_ ” and the men got into position.

Beauclerc glanced at her and then down at the line of powder and shot lined up. “You got this?”

“I’ve got you,” she murmured just before the _Andromache’s_ guns barked.

Beauclerc knelt, his elbow braced on his knee, and stilled. Through three rounds of cannon, and two shots, the _Andromache_ lost the wind and the _Walrus_ came about. Pistol shots traded back and forth, and between reloading the long gun for Beauclerc, she lifted her bow and took aim, catching one gunner in the throat and another in the shoulder, spinning him about just as he raised a pistol and Billy shouted “ _Go! Go! Go!_ ”

It was a flurry of shots interspersed with the clang of swords meeting and the men yelling with the occasional scream. When a gunner got a good aim on Beauclerc and returned fire, hitting the top armor and sending splinters into their faces, she made sure to knock an arrow and send it into his ear before he had time to reload.

And then it was quiet on top as the men cleared below decks. Suddenly a round of shots cut through the air and the location of Bryson and the last of his men were found. Flint, Gates, Billy and DeGroot came out of the foredeck bunker, calling back the vanguard and halting their searches. The _Andromache_ was dead in the water and Bryson was barricaded below with a dozen men in a reinforced hold at the forward end of the lower gun deck, right in front of a powder magazine. Any attempt to retrieve the cannon from the lower gun deck was met with guns and if Flint tried to blow them the entire ship would go down. Fast.

Silver cleared the bodies on deck, retrieving what arrows she could while she listened to men talk before joining Beauclerc on the buntlines to watch as the _Andromache_ was striped of what supplies the men could reach. Flint and Gates traded ideas back and forth about how to roust Bryson, occasionally Billy and even DeGroot chimed in before they moved off to handle ship and crew. It wasn’t until a slave climbed up from below with a message from Bryson that Flint understood the bind they were in.

_I’m secure in the hold below with twenty of my men. I can wait. You cannot. Before departing I sent a message to the Captain of the Scarborough. I told him where I was headed. I told him where he would find you._

And then the lookout shouted, _“Sails!”_ and everyone knew what they had been missing. The _Scarborough_ was bearing down on them. Night was falling, and before anyone could shout a warning, the slave who delivered the message lit a bomb and charged Flint only to fall from a shot by Billy and then explode, having fallen on his grenade, leaving the men within range – including Flint – covered in gore.

As night fell, Silver took what supplies were readily available from the _Andromache_ and boiled some salted ham and mash for the men, cutting the ham into cubes and mixing it with softened diced carrots into the potato mash so the men could fill their bellies quickly. It helped ease some of the tension though at one point as all lights were doused, Logan found her and filled his bowl, mumbling about how he didn’t think Flint would let them leave without the cannon.

Silver nearly wacked his knuckles with her spoon. “Don’t cause worry where it isn’t needed.”

Logan frowned and shoved a spoonful of the mash into his mouth, speaking around the glob as he said “Billy thinks so, too.” Only it came out more like “ _Illah ins soo oo_.”

Silver rolled her eyes. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. We’re pirates, not heathens, yeah?”

Logan snorted and then choked on the piece of ham he’d snorted up his nose. Silver laughed and passed him a skein of ale Dufresne had dropped off and told her not to disperse, as they broken into a barrel of fresh water they’d pulled off the _Andromache,_ and then went to find Billy. He was talking to Gates as they stood above the rear gun deck, watching one of the dark skinned men climb down into the hold. She wondered if this was their plan to get into the hold and shrugged it off until asked or otherwise. She caught Billy’s eye when he finished speaking with Gates and motioned to the _Walrus._ They found a spot on the rails mid ship, away from listening ears.

“So?”

Billy turned to look at her. “What?”

She rolled her hand. “You obviously have something you need to get off your chest. What’s happened since this morning?”

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you?”

“Who else can you tell?”

Billy huffed and turned to brace himself on the rail with both arms. “I found a letter from Missus Barlow.”

“Who?”

Billy blinked at her. Then he straightened, barked, “Come with me,” and walked toward the stern, leading her into the Captain’s cabin, grabbing a lamp and flint on the way, ignoring the way one of the men warned about Flint’s order of ‘no lights.’

Once inside the cabin, Billy closed and locked the door behind them. “Missus Barlow is a woman who lives in the interior of New Providence Island. Flint visits her whenever we land.” He cleared the desk and set the lamp down. “Your witch rumors come from there. Flint says she’s just a puritan woman who shares his love of books. Morley told me about a ship called the _Maria Aleyne_ that Flint hunted down so he could kill two passengers onboard on her orders. Six men of the _Walrus_ died for that.” He lit the oil lamp and leaned on the desk, his back to her as he continued, “The night before Singleton challenged, Flint took me to Harbor Island to see Richard in an attempt to remake the schedule, only the _Scarborough_ arrived after us with a warrant for Guthrie’s arrest.”

“Richard _Guthrie?”_ Silver straightened from the door. “As in Miss Eleanor Guthrie and Guthrie Trading, Richard Guthrie?”

“Her father,” Billy nodded. “He was shot in the scuffle and Flint hid him away at the Barlow woman’s house. Gates and I figure the only way Bryson knew the _Scarborough_ was on Harbor Island is if Guthrie told him. And now,” he pulled something small and white from the sash under his belt. “I find this in Bryson’s cabin.”

Silver stepped forward to see that it was a letter from one ‘Miranda Barlow.’ “Well, shit.”

Billy nodded and took the letter back, flicking the open seal and pulling the paper out, tilting it so they could both read the contents in the dim lantern light.

* * *

_To the Honorable Justice Addington Thomas,_  
_Massachusetts Bay Colony._

_I petition you under the advisement of your friend, Mr. Richard Guthrie, to bestow your favor and influence. You may know Captain James Flint by reputation, through stories of his past misdeeds, but you might not know of his desire to repent. He’s a good man, a decent man, eager to renounce his transgressions at sea and seek life in a part of the world willing to accept a man, humbled and penitent, were such a thing possible, would such a place exist._

_It is with this very hope that I write you today. I’ve enclosed a Bill of Exchange for five hundred pounds, to be spent at your discretion toward procuring whatever permissions necessary. I only urge speed, he is caught in a dangerous plot with wicked men who will most certainly kill him when they learn of his betrayal. Believe me._

_Your obliged and faithful servant,_  
_Miranda Barlow_

* * *

Silver blinked and read it again. “Fuck.”

Billy grabbed the letter, blew out the lamp, and walked out of the cabin.

“Where you going?” Silver asked, almost running to catch his long-legged strides.

“I’m taking this to Gates,” Billy ducked under a beam and came out into the _Walrus’s_ quarter deck.

“First, what the fuck’s he gonna do about it _right now?”_ Silver hissed at him, aware of a few crewman’s eyes following them.

Billy abruptly stopped at the rail where the plank to walk between ships had been secured. “What’s that mean?”

“We’re in the middle of battle,” Silver lurched to a stop at his shoulder. “Even I know you don’t question the Captain in those circumstances, and I’m only talking about a merchant vessel, not a pirate crew.”

“And second?” he asked without turning around.

 _“Think_ about what that letter said. Think about the _words_ the woman used,” Silver came up beside him on the rail so that she wasn’t talking to his broad back.

“What about it?” Billy looked down at her, a brow raised.

“You think Flint would ever describe his crew as ‘wicked men’ that he was afraid of? Flint?” Silver gestured toward where Flint stood on the forecastle of the _Andromache_ like a great beast ready to leap the moment his prey blinked. “This is the man who beat Singleton to death with a cannon ball and his bare hands just to prove a point.”

Billy reared back as if he’d forgotten that. “So what? You think the letter’s been faked?”

“I think the letter is real enough,” Silver shrugged, calming now that Billy was thinking with his head and not just reacting. “But I don’t think Flint had anything to do with it. Can you imagine Flint pleading with a Justice for a pardon? He’d _demand_ one at gunpoint. I’ve known the man a week and I could tell you that.”

Billy blinked and titled his head, thinking for a long minute before he heaved a sigh. “I still think we should take this to Gates.”

“Do that,” Silver nodded. _“After_ this mess is over.”

“Everything all right?”

Billy and Silver turned to look across the plank at the very man they’d been talking about. As if their conversation had conjured him, Gates was leaning on the rails of the _Andromache,_ a brow lifted and a frown on his face as his gaze darted between the two of them.

“All fine,” Silver eyed Billy out of the corner of her eye

“We need to talk after this,” Billy nodded and then turned to look at the Captain. “You and Flint.”

Silver blinked at him, a corner of her mouth lifting. She had no idea Billy had that kind of gumption.

From the half smirk on Gates’ face, he didn’t either. “All right,” he nodded and then frowned. “Captain’s calling for ideas. Lars is dead.”

Silver frowned. “Who’s Lars?”

“The darkie we sent down into the hold to smoke out Bryson,” Billy murmured before climbing onto the plank and walking across to the _Andromache._ Silver was right behind him. They found the half of the crew not shifting supplies across standing around Flint, trading ideas back and forth about how to get Bryson and his twenty men out of the hold. For a long few minutes it sounded like Flint was settling on the idea of hanging of the stern and shooting through cracks until Silver remembered something.

“What about the slaves?”

Flint stilled and looked at her, “What slaves?”

“You think that man,” she gestured at the heap for flesh and bone blown to bits that the men hadn’t touched. “Would turn himself into a suicide to get to you just because Bryson told him to? He was terrified.”

Flint’s face turned stony before he turned and charged toward the Captain’s cabin, Gates, Billy and Silver on his heels. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it before. It was staring us right in the face,” he dug through the ship’s log, stopping on one sheet detailing the cargo. “Thirty-eight slaves. Nine priced over a hundred pounds. That’s nine strong men who could fight Bryson from below.”

“Yeah, well,” Gates rumbled. “You’re presuming those nine men will chose to take up arms and join a fight they couldn’t possibly know or care less about.”

“Given their current situation, my presumption is that there are no nine men on earth who wouldn’t jump at the chance of a little fight.” At the silence of his audience, Flint barked. “What, you got a better idea?”

A whistle went up and they heard the watch call for the captain.

As they came back out of the cabin, Flint walked over to the plank and looked down between the ships. The smile that lit his face was feral enough to make both Billy and Gates flinch.

Gates leaned over to see what had pleased the captain. When he straightened up he had a resigned look on his face. “You think they put that there to signal us?”

“Well it wasn’t there three hours ago. If not us I couldn’t tell you who they are trying to signal.”

“How do you propose we get them out of their chains?”

At that, the rest of the men seemed to catch on and an air of excitement went through them. Especially when Logan piped up, “I’ve got something,” and held up a chisel.

“That’s gonna cause noise,” Billy cautioned.

“So make noise,” Silver offered. “Like you did on the _Fair Carolina,_ stomping and howling fit to frighten full grown men.”

Joji grinned, catching on. “It’s gotta be rhythmic so they can time their strikes.”

“Axes?” one man offered.

Another stomped his heel. “Hammer on the floor right above the bastards heads.”

“Good, do that,” Flint ordered and watched the men disperse to grab tools and anything heavy they could use. “Joji, Joshua, with me. Silver, how’s your night vision?”

“Better than most,” Silver answered slowly, “Why?”

He nodded toward the quiver still on her back. “You’ve got the only silent weapon onboard.” Then he discarded his coat, smeared some charcoal over and around his eyes, and wrapped a dark cloth around his head and neck. She quickly followed suit, taking a dark shirt someone handed her and pulling it over her head to hide her white shirt and light blue vest that were her only clothing at the moment. Joshua helped smear charcoal over her cheeks and forehead while Joji grabbed half a dozen loaded pistols and dispersed them between Flint, Joshua and himself.

“-down the side hatch,” Flint was saying to Gates as last minute orders. “Close the main doors. I want as little light for them to see by as possible. As soon as the shooting starts, I want you all down there to batter open the doors.”

“Yes, sir,” Gates nodded and then turned to supervise Logan being hung over the side to drop the cloth-wrapped chisel through the small porthole the slaves had hung the cloth out of.

Flint grabbed her shoulder as he passed by and steered her toward a side hatch where both Joshua and Joji were kneeling. “Boots off,” Flint ordered before sitting down and pulling his own boots off. He had a pair of dark woolen socks on but she could afford no such thing so she was surprised when a pair of dark red woolen socks were thrown in her face.

“I want those back,” Muldoon, one of the ship’s powder men who hadn’t been particularly friendly to her, hissed.

She just blinked at him as he walked away. When she turned to look at Flint it was to see him smirking at her before he hid his face with the head scarf. He reached down and grabbed the hatch handle and then stilled. “Joji, Joshua, you’re on starboard. Silver and I will take port. Go slow, take your time and don’t get shot. Understood?”

The gleam of Joshua’s white teeth in his black face was eerie. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

Joji just nodded and covered his head in a dark scarf like Flint.

Flint waited until Billy started the pounding beat, and then he heaved the hatch open and dropped in, reaching up to guide Silver down, waiting until the other two were in before signaling whoever was up top to close the hatch behind them. It went quickly from there. They moved in concert with the men on deck, stepping with bangs, and freezing at any movement from the men within the bunker. Silver kept to Flint’s shoulder, an arrow knocked and her bow at the ready as she followed the vague outline of his wide shoulders in the dark, knowing that he could see much better than she could. As they got closer they could hear the _clank_ of chains being broken with the chisel and knew their plan was working.

Suddenly wild cries erupted from the bunker and Flint _moved,_ lurching forward straight to the eyeholes, cocking his pistol and aiming directly for a man who looked to be choking one of the slaves within. It was a matter of moments to release all six pistols shots and several of her arrows into the white men inside the bunker, the rest of whom were taken care of by the slaves.

Then the men started moving the rest of the supplies across in a flurry of hurried movement. Billy and Gates supervised shifting the cannon and the powder magazines. The work was done quickly and cleanly, as though each man aboard could feel the weight of the _Scarborough_ bearing down on them.

It was chance, and chance alone that had Silver down in the bunker, retrieving arrows just as a pair of men went toward one of the last few barrels of powder and she noticed the strange mechanism on top. “Wait,” she barked at the men, coming closer to see just what the thing was. “Someone get Muldoon and Logan down here.”

The men whined but did it. And when Muldoon got down, grumbling the whole way, the first words out of his mouth were, “Better not have gotten blood on me socks, you fuck.”

Silver just pointed.

Muldoon sneered but dutifully turned to examine the device. He quickly got intense. “Fuck me.”

“What is it?” Logan asked as he joined them.

Muldoon gestured. “Tell me that’s not what I fucking think it is.”

Logan blinked at him before turning his attention to the device on top of the powder barrel. He walked slowly around the barrel to get a good look at the back. As he knelt down, then men could see that he’d gone white. “Someone get the Captain. Now.”

It was said quietly, but the men moved.

Logan gestured to the five barrels behind him. “Get these out of here. Quickly. And don’t fucking jostle this barrel or we’re all dead.”

The men who moved forward to grab the barrels froze at those words. “What?”

“That’s a firing device,” Muldoon explained. “Set to ignite if someone so much as sneezes in its direction. Would’ve taken this room and everyone in it if Silver here hadn’t noticed it before you twats grabbed it.”

“And likely signaled our exact location to the _Scarborough,”_ Flint said from behind them. “Can you extricate it, Mister Logan?”

Logan hadn’t risen from his crouch to study the device. “Not without setting it off.”

“Then leave it for the _Scarborough,”_ Flint ordered. “Silver, with me.”

Silver followed, only pausing briefly to hand Muldoon the rolled up pair of red socks.

“Keep them,” he muttered, crossing his arms as if the thought of touching them disgusted him.

She lifted a brow. “I’ll get you another pair when we return to Nassau.”

“Don’t bother,” he grunted. “I’ve got plenty.”

“If you’re sure,” she shrugged when he grunted at her and tucked the socks back into the quiver to put back on later. She followed Flint back over to the _Walrus,_ only pausing to reassure some of the men that she’d be making breakfast in a few hours, and yes, they had plenty of food to go around. Dufresne had informed her that they found several sacks of biscuits, fruit and meat in the bunker. Even a couple of cheese rolls had been found along with another dairy goat.

Flint waited until they were on the quarterdeck before he murmured, “Muldoon has those socks dyed red special from one of the women in town. He’d never give them up on a whim.”

“Heaven forbid I make friends among the crew,” Silver murmured back, side-eyeing his quick grin. “Did you need me for something specific?”

“Thank you,” Flint cleared his throat. “That could have been a very costly mistake.”

“How much did that hurt?” She quipped.

“So much,” Flint growled back at her. “Get to work, you shit.”

She swallowed back a laugh and snapped off a halfhearted salute then headed toward the galley.

They were pushing away from the _Andromache_ within the hour, full sails into the wind headed east and then south back to Nassau. In the hour before dawn the crew was called to the rails as they called the names of the fallen and heaved the bodies overboard.

Breakfast was full of a surprisingly cheerful and grateful crew who, despite the dangers and the loss of six men, had pulled one of their more successful prizes in months, for the hold of the ship had been full to bursting with goods, not including the cannon they’d brought onboard, which they wouldn’t be selling. Dufresne told the men that they’d likely netted well over one hundred and eighty dollars a man once their goods were offloaded at Nassau. It was a promising start to their hunt for the _Urca d’Lima._

It was nearly afternoon before the boatswain found her in the galley and dragged her after him to the Captain’s cabin. Gates was already there, discussing something with Flint when Billy barged in, towing her with him.

“What this, then?” Gates straightened.

Billy pulled out the letter. “We need to talk about this.”

Silver could see the way Gates seemed to slump and the way Flint went still. “What’s that?”

He swallowed at the quiet tone of menace in the Captain’s voice but, to her surprise, Billy didn’t back down. “I think you know.”

Their gazes locked and she was very careful to stay still and not draw attention to herself until Flint moved, shattering the tension as he held out his hand. “May I?”

The boatswain dutifully stepped forward and set the letter in his captain’s hand, sitting when Gates did in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. She moved toward the rear gallery to take a seat in one of the windows, not at all surprised when both Gates and Billy gave her sheepish looks for apparently forgetting she was even in the room with them. Flint, on the other hand, didn’t look up from his reading in the letter though he did turn in his chair so that when she sat on the window bench she wasn’t at his back. It was a long, long minute wherein she was sure Flint read the letter more than once before he leaned back with a sigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck have you done?”

Billy met her gaze before he addressed Flint. “Did you plan to betray us, Captain?”

Flint’s gaze sharpened as he locked his sights on Billy. “Still don’t trust me?”

“How can I after seeing that letter?”

“I didn’t write the letter, Billy,” Flint growled.

“No,” Billy lifted his lip. “But you could have told the Barlow woman to do it. How else would Bryson know where to send the _Scarborough?”_

“Richard Guthrie could’ve told him,” Gates interrupted.

“Oh really, you think?” Billy sassed before turning back to Flint. “What happened on the _Maria Aleyne?”_

Flint roared out of his seat. _“That_ has nothing to do with this!”

To his credit, Billy didn’t back down beyond wincing at Flint’s anger and turning his face aside to show that wasn’t challenging Flint directly. But Silver had seen what Billy didn’t in the split moment before Flint had turned to anger; hurt. He was hurting, why? Because his crew didn’t trust him? Obviously. Because he’d been caught? Possibly. Because his woman had gone behind his back and betrayed _him?_ That was the more likely answer, made obvious by the way Flint _flinched_ when Billy quietly asked, "How do we know it doesn’t?”

“Billy,” Gates started, his voice gruff with anger but his eyes flicking back to Flint with concern. And Silver understood.

“Enough, Billy,” All three men turned to her at that. “He’s told you he didn’t write it.” When Billy opened his mouth to argue she shook her head, turning her attention instead to the quartermaster. “Do you know? Did he explain to you about the _Maria Aleyne?”_ she elaborated at his confused look.

Gates shared a look with Flint before he answered slowly, “Yes, enough.”

She grit her teeth at his answer but turned to Billy. “Do you trust your quartermaster enough to trust that he’d never let the Captain use the crew to further a personal vendetta like that again?”'

It was both an admonishment to Billy and a warning to Gates and Flint. To their credit, all three men took it well. Billy nodded and Gates sighed. Only Flint stared at her in mild confusion.

 _Good,_ Silver thought as she left the room.


	6. VI.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay kids. Buckle your seatbelts; it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

_**1715 – Nassau, New Providence Island** _

Silver heard the word ‘luck charm’ too many times on the way back to the island to discount the way the men turned a bit reverent as they said it. As they were disembarking on the long boats, Billy gave her a list and a mark from Flint for funds from the bursar to purchase foodstuffs for the short stay and to resupply for the push to the _Urca._ They were nearly to shore before she quietly asked Billy what being an ‘albatross’ meant.

Billy eyed her, “Where’d you hear that?”

“Muldoon,” Silver almost crossed her arms in a sulk. “I tried to give his socks back again. He said ‘ _won’t take nothing from our albatross what’s not freely given_.’ What’s he mean?”

“Figures,” Billy cursed. “You saved the men’s lives when there was no reason for you to be down in that powder room. Muldoon’s not an idiot but he’s a superstitious fuck.”

They jumped over the low rail of the long boats and sloshed through the gentle waves to shore. Silver made sure to kill off most of the clumped sand by the time they got to the packed down street. “So what’s an albatross?”

Billy sighed. “You’ll have to ask the Captain for the specifics, being a reading man he probably knows the actual legend. But basically, it means you’re a good luck charm until you turn into a bad one.”

That had her cocking her head to the side. “What makes it turn into a bad one?”

“Usually?” Billy crossed his arms and smirked at her. “Killing you.”

“Oh, good.” Silver huffed a laugh. “Then it’s nothing _I_ do.”

Billy laughed at her. He walked with her a ways up the market street, stopping as she stopped to order some goods to be collected on her way back down from the bursars office. He gestured to the tanner. “Need new boots. You good?”

“Where’s the bursars office?”

He pointed to a small, white-painted building at the top of the lane. “Just walk in , ask for Mister Holland.” I’ll catch you up after.”

She nodded and waited until he was out of sight before she continued up the market, making sure she tallied the total coin in her head she would need to pay out on her way back down. For a lawless town, it was surprisingly civilized when it came to goods and money. The bursar took her notes and her list of goods and tallied it in his own head, accounting for tip or inflation or whatever it was he was mumbling under his breath and then counted out a number of _reals_ into a small leather purse. She turned to go when Mister Holland called out to her.

“I’m sorry,” Silver said, eyeing the second small pouch being held out to her. “Did I forget something?”

“You didn’t read the note?” Holland chortled. “No matter. Flint says you’re to be outfitted as a member of his crew. This is your stipend for, and I quote, ‘getting the shit a new shirt’.”

Silver rolled her eyes and took the second purse which was heavier than she expected. Once outside the office, she sidled to the alley between buildings and opened it, stunned to find at least forty-five _reals._ It wasn’t a lot of money by Nassau standards, but she knew just from browsing that it was enough for another shirt, a pair of pants, a proper belt and even a few luxury items. It was very generous if it was something the _Walrus_ crew was used to, but something told her they normally didn’t get paid _before_ collecting a prize, so she wondered at it.

But wondering didn’t stop her from going to the clothing section of the market row. Where she found a dark red tunic that was slim enough she wouldn’t look like she was swimming in it. A sturdy pair of trousers in dark blue could be drawn tight about her hips with ties and opened easily with a buttoned placard on both front and back. Someone had lovingly embroidered a slightly darker blue ribbon along the outside hem to give it some texture before fitting the seams at the bottom to either be tied tight to fit inside boots, or loos to cover them. She found a tasseled sash died such a dark red it was nearly purple and a wide belt that was short enough to fit around her narrow hips and wide enough not to emphasize her even narrower waist. Newly outfitted, she headed back over to the food area and paid those vendors after arranging for it all to be hauled down to the _Walrus_ tents.

She planned to trade whatever coin she had left for silver beads, which were just as good as coin in this place, but much easier to carry when she passed the tanner and saw a leather waistcoat drying in the sun. It was died a dark reddish brown that reminded her of the color of drying blood. When the tanner insisted she try it on, she couldn’t help at least touching it. Butter soft, the leather had been rubbed with oil so that it would be practically waterproof; a necessity for anything leather in this seafaring town. It hooked over knots on the front to mid-waist and cinched tied in the back using cords. The neck came down to the bottom of her breastbone and straps were wide enough that, if she hadn’t been wearing a breast-band to flatten her out, would have cupped her small breasts enough to emphasize their gentle curve.

“That’s nice,” Billy said from over her shoulder.

She nearly jumped, eyeing him for coming up on her. But when she saw only friendly admiration and not suspicion that she was a girl under her boy’s garb, she made up her mind. She _really_ wanted the vest. Handing over the required coin, she eyed him. “Get what you wanted?”

Billy nodded. “The cobbler said to pick them up tomorrow morning. You get everything on the list?”

“It’s all been hauled down to the cook tent.” He walked gamely along with her over the jeweler and watched calmly as she traded a handful of coins for a handful of silver beads strung on a thin leather cord that she tied around her neck. “Have you seen Randall?”

“Howell says he can be up and around with the crew in a week or so. Not sure what that means for him coming along for the _Urca,_ but that’s up to the crew now.” He glanced at the beach, but followed her when she headed away from it instead. “Where to now?”

“Going to see Max,” she was looking at him so saw the way he grimaced, and wondered at it. “Is it the whore that bothers you? Or the brothel?”

She couldn’t parse the look he gave her, but it was equal parts embarrassment, annoyance, and fear. The embarrassment and annoyance she could understand. But fear? She didn’t think he was one who went for men, as she’d never seen him eyeing up his brothers on the crew. She stopped on the road just outside the Noonan’s tavern and waited for him to turn to her. When he said nothing she quietly asked, “Do you just not like sex?”

He scoffed and crossed his arms, looking away from both her and the tavern and Silver suspected she guessed right. “You know that fine, right?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. And even when he turned to look at her, he stayed quiet. But _something_ in her face; the empathy she felt, the understanding, the lack of judgement, maybe the thought that she was a boy, something let him calm his fears and his shoulders drop. “I don’t mind the women,” he started softly, dipping his head a little so that their conversation was very obviously a private one. “Looking and touching is nice. But the thought of… _that,”_ he shuddered. “I don’t like the lack of-of…”

“It’s fine,” Silver said, tipping her head to the side. “So touch doesn’t bother you. Kisses? Hugs?”

“Hugs,” he nodded. “Kisses?” he shrugged.

She didn’t have the language to understand that what Billy was describing was known as being asexual, but she knew enough to know that whatever he was comfortable with was enough. In fact, it had been a big deal for him to reveal that to her, despite him thinking she was a boy. And knowing that, she knew the weight was on her to reciprocate. So she made a quick decision. “You have enough coin for a few hours with one of them?”

“Yeah,” Billy frowned. “But I just told you-”

“Good, come with me,” she turned and walked into the tavern, sharp eyes picking out the ling dark hair of Idelle and ignoring Billy hissing her name behind her. “Idelle!”

The woman’s head came up and a sharp smile crossed her face. “Good! You’re back! Maybe you can talk some sense into Max.” she left the lap of some pour soul who complained only to be assuaged by another nubile half naked woman falling into his lap to shut him up. Whatever was said about the morals of these women, they had each other’s backs. She felt more than one pair of eyes watch as she headed toward the stairs, Idelle in front and a reluctant Billy following behind. Idelle leaned against a door to open it just as she spotted Billy behind her. “Who’s your friend?” she purred.

Silver smirked ay her. “He likes to be touched but not molested.”

“I can handle that,” Idelle smirked.

“Silver!” Billy barked.

She huffed a laugh and dragged him inside the room far enough so that Idelle could close the door after him. “Don’t worry. I trust these two with my life.” She could see Idelle’s startled expression before she turned to see Max sitting in the window. She was clean and her bruises were healing, but her hair was lank and her skin sallow.  
Max was just turning at their voices and her face obviously lit up in recognition. She stood and opened her arms as Silver came closer. “You came back.”

Silver was only a few inches taller, but she enfolded the girl in her arms as best she could. It took only a moment, but it was all the girl needed to break down. As Max sobbed into her shoulder, she turned to see both Billy and Idelle standing awkwardly by the door. “A hot bath?” Silver asked quietly, her eyes on Idelle. “And perhaps a massage? It’s the least our good boatswain deserves for all he’s been through in the last few days.”

Billy started to protest but Idelle ignored him, gently shoving him toward the bed as she answered, “I’ll get the boys to bring in the hot water. The tub is in the corner.”

Max murmured apologies in French and tried to pull away but Silver just ignored her and held on. After a minute, Max relaxed against the other woman, wrapping her arms around her waist. Silver turned them so that she could see Billy without getting a crick in her neck, and eased the cheesecloth sack with her new cloths off her shoulder. When she met Billy’s gaze, he started to protest again, but she just shook her head. “I really should apologize,” she started.

Billy tipped his head to the side. It was such a doglike-gesture that she had to smile. “Why?”

“I misjudged you. I really thought you were a pretty idiot when we first met.” Max giggling into her neck made her smile sharpen, but she ignored Billy’s snort and continued. “In my defense, you did sort of follow Gates around like a puppy.”

Billy crossed his arms. “What changed your mind?”

“You’re not an idiot,” Silver smiled gently at him. “I think I knew that when you proved you knew about Turk and how you handled the crew while we careened. But you have no idea what to do with everything you see, do you?” she could feel Max paying attention as Billy’s face got more confused.

“What do you mean?”

“The men trust you because you’re a genuinely good guy. You don’t understand the necessity for subterfuge or why Flint would lie to protect his crew.”

Billy shrugged his shoulders, not denying it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I trust you.” At that Max pulled back and looked up at her, her face telling Silver just how stupid she thought this idea was. Silver huffed a laugh. “I do. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He doesn’t understand why people want sex though he acknowledges that they need it. And he told me, without making me swear not to tell a soul because he doesn’t know why that knowledge could damage the way certain men look at him or how someone would willfully use that to manipulate him.”

Max’s eyes went a little wide at that. She turned to look at Billy. “You don’t like sex?”

It was almost funny how guilty Billy looked at that direct question. “I… don’t mind other people having it?”

Max snorted and looked back at Silver. “Where did you find this one?”

“Covered in grease and dirt, half naked on the deck of the _Walrus_ without a clue what he looked like to all and sundry,” she quipped back, a corner of her mouth twisted up at the irony and a very handsome man not knowing how pretty he was.

“Oh _ma cherie,”_ Max’s eyes went narrow at that. “Can I have him?”

“No,” Silver let go of Max and bent down for her clothes. “But you can help me cut my hair. It’s getting too long to be manageable.”

Idelle came back in just in time to hear Max get quite strident in her tone about that idea. The tub was filled and Billy stripped and soaking in the heat when Silver finally had enough. “I’m not putting _grease_ in my hair! Do you know how sticky that’s gonna get in the heat of the galley? Not to mention the _sea?_ Salt and grease do not mix, Max!”

“Are they always like this?” Billy whispered to Idelle and she poured a bit of oil in her hands.

Idelle shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t know,” she whispered back before applying the oil to his shoulders and digging in with her thumbs.

Max and Silver both stopped at the absolutely filthy sounds Idelle wrangled from Billy by rubbing out the knots in those impressive muscles. Billy looked embarrassed when all three women sniggered at the chorus of hoots from the men downstairs. Apparently he’d been loud.

Max sighed. “At least let me try something? If you do not like it we can cut it off then, _d’accord?”_

“No grease,” Silver hedged.

_“Bien,”_ she agreed and turned to her vanity for a comb and several bottles of oil.

Silver sighed, suspecting she’d been swindled in some way, but not angry over it. She eyed the bottles in Max’s hand and knew this would get messy. Then she eyed Billy in the tub and shrugged. He was _occupied_ and she was not particularly concerned because she'd already made her decision. now she just had to _stick_ to it. She dragged a stool over to the tub so that she could dip a cloth into the hot water and clean herself without falling over and then proceeded to strip out of her sweat-stiffened and dirty clothes. When she was bare as the day she was born, she turned to eye the whore.

Max gestured at the tub, “Dunk. I need your hair clean to start.”

Silver sighed, eyed the open area of the tub water between Billy’s outstretched knees, took a breath and bent over. It wasn’t until she was blinking through the rivulets streaming down her face that she saw Billy had opened his eyes. He watched, a gob smacked look on his face as Max poured a bit of liquid soap into her hand and attacked Silver’s tightly curled hair. While Max washed her head, Silver used the cloth and washed her body, being thorough as she knew this was one of the few times she could be. Another dunking and then she was straightening , pushing the water down her limbs with her hands and careful to keep one eye on Billy to judge his reaction.

When Max handed her a sheet to wrap around herself and motioned for her to sit, she did so facing the tub and her boatswain. Their eyes met and Billy’s were surprised so much as confused.

“Why?”

Silver snorted and hissed when Max wacked the back of her head. She sent a glare the whore’s way before turning back to Billy. “Imagine for a moment if those men out there found out I was a girl.”

At Billy’s continued confusion, Max muttered a few curses. “ _Il ne comprendra pas si vous ne l'aidez pas._ ”

Billy flicked his eyes at Max, but didn’t move. Idelle had finished her massage and was sitting calmly behind him, and arm draped over his shoulder and her head leaning against the back if his. For a man who eschewed the sex act, he looked oddly comfortable naked in a tub surrounded by three women. It actually made her feel better about revealing her secret to him.

“Some wouldn’t mind,” Silver started. “Gates would just huff and tell me to get to work. Hell, even Flint would probably be okay with it; that man has an odd sense of gentlemanly decorum about him.” Both Idelle and Max tipped their heads as if considering that before nodding. “But most men would take it badly. I’m a woman, on a ship where a woman shouldn’t be, doing a man’s job and doing it well enough that they don’t suspect I’m the weaker sex. It makes most men feel threatened to see that a woman can do and be as much as a man.”

Billy was quiet for a moment before he stated, “That’s stupid.”

All three women snorted.

“Yes,” Silver agreed. “But it is truth, nonetheless.”

“Anne Bonny-” Billy started.

“Has her own set of problems,” Max interrupted. When Silver turned to look at her with a brow raised, she explained. “She came and apologized to me. Told a bit of her own problems. She’s not had it easy, that one.”

“I suspect not,” Silver muttered, thinking about her being a woman among men doing a vicious job and having to prove herself more vicious just so the men don’t take advantage of her. All that on top of the urge to scream at every death coming and going around her. No, she’s not had it easy.

After a moment, Billy nodded. “All right. But if anything comes up, you’re telling Gates.”

Silver groaned but didn’t argue.

_“D’accord,”_ Max interrupted, shoving Silver toward the small, cracked mirror. “What do you think?”

She’d done something to the strands to have them curled in such a way so that they laid in finger width curls down to nearly her chin instead of matted tightly against her scalp. It made her think of the way the ladies back in France would take a hot rod from the fire and wrap their hair around it to get these same kinds of ringlets. Her hair was glossy and dark and reflected a blue black instead of looking like a shapeless charcoal cloud on her head. She like it, quite a bit. But, “You don’t think it looks too feminine?”

Max scoffed, “People see what they expect to see. They think you a boy, so they will see a boy with curly hair. Nothing more.”

Decided, she dressed in her new clothes, nearly luxuriating in the sturdy linen of the trousers instead of scratchy wool. She pulled on Muldoon’s red woolen socks and her boots, tucking the trouser hems into the tops and lacing them up. Max handed her a clean breast band, one Silver recognized as the one she’d left here. The red tunic went on easily, blousing out around her waist. The sash she tied over the waistband of the trousers to help keep them up, along with the new belt. All of it helped disguise the shapely curve of her hips. Even the vest, pulled tightly along her ribs and cinched in the back, emphasized her slenderness and not her curves. While she tied the leather pouch that held all her worldly goods at her hip, she noticed that Billy had been getting dressed with Idelle’s generous help.

She smirked at him before turning to Max.

_“Tres bien,”_ Max murmured, circling before coming to a stop in front of her. “You are starting to look like a pirate and not flotsam.”

Silver snorted and then leaned close. “Do you have sponges?”

Max nodded and turned away. “Your menses are close?”

“Mostly likely in the coming week,” Silver winced thinking about bleeding while on a ship full of nosy men.

Max caught the thought. “You ever use a cup?”

And Silver sighed in relief. It was not something spoken about in polite circles. Hell, it wasn’t something even mentioned in passing; the fact that a woman bleeds was something she was told by men she should be ashamed of. Like it wasn’t something that happened every day. But passed from mother to daughter, from sister to friend, were the ways a woman could deal with it without secluding herself like a social pariah. Most women used washable rags kept in place by a belt. Some used cotton or linen pushed up inside. Sponges were incredibly useful but also required regular changing. Cups, if it was what Silver thought it was, were a fairly new invention, only come into use since the discovery of rubber trees and the properties of that miraculous sap could be utilized by nearly everyone. One of the first secrets shared with the white women who came to inhabit the tropical islands was the way to design a small, bell-like cup to collect the blood while remaining active, with little to no chance of leaking.

For Silver’s clan of female-led warriors, the uses of such an object were immediately understood and applied. Since she‘d started bleeding at twelve years old, her mother and grandmother had made sure she knew how to use and clean the foldable little cup. When she left home, she’d forgotten it. Silver had been miraculously lucky in that her menses had occurred only twice since then, and both times while on land.

Max handed over the pale looking little bell-shaped rubber bell in a dark silk jewelry bag, and Silver almost wept in relief. “Thank you.”

_“Bien sûr.”_

They shared another hug before the four of them departed the room, Billy stopping only long enough to hand Idelle several coins. At the bottom of the stair, Billy was received by a few of the _Walrus_ men who hollered their approval and eyed Idelle with renewed interest. The boatswain just shrugged it off good-naturedly, but Silver knew it would only help his reputation with the men. And Idelle’s; she’d receive quite a bit of money in the coming days. They grabbed a table and sat to eat and gather news. It was there they heard what had happened in their absence.

Richard Guthrie announcing that their enterprise was done because of a Royal warrant for his arrest. Near riots in the streets with the men thinking they wouldn’t get their money. Hornigold and several other captains gathered together with Eleanor to create a consortium.

Silver lifted a brow at Idelle. “How that go?”

“You know that blond bitch,” Idelle sneered. “Probably discussing the likelihood of Nassau burning down around us over tea.”

Silver met Max’s eyes before she asked, “So, bad?”

Billy snorted his laughter into his pint, reaching out to pull Idelle against his shoulder when she looked like she would start fuming. Idelle cuddled in, using the moment to stroke his chest and shoulders without worrying about being groped in return. Max just rolled her eyes and ate a few more bits of meat and vegetable off the plates that Billy and Silver bought. The girls under Noonan were fed as part of their room and board, but never so well as the customers. Silver didn’t mind sharing, as she would never eat as much as some of the men, and she could tell Billy didn’t mind either.

After they finished eating and catching up on gossip, Billy leaned forward, dislodging Idelle from his lap. “We should get to the beach.”

Silver nodded, smacked a kiss on Max’s cheek and walked out with him. They arrived on the sand just in time to see Gates and Flint disappear into a small cabin that Flint apparently built for himself, and slept in when he didn’t disappear into the interior. They noticed a small gathering of the men in front of the tents.

Billy gestured to it. “Looks like they’re calling council. I should join them.”

“I’ll start lunch,” Silver offered.

Billy nodded, but before he left he dropped a hand onto her shoulder. “Thank you,” he turned her so that they were face to face. “I appreciate what you did for me, and what you told me.”

Silver nodded and started toward the cooking tent. She pulled on an apron and started on a meal when she heard a commotion and turned to see DeGroot and Dr. Howell holding back a furious Randall. They tired talking to him, but Randall wouldn’t settle until DeGroot made his way over to her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Randall would like a word with you.”

“Me?”

“Council just voted. He’s out.”

Silver stood. “Out?”

DeGroot sighed. “Suppose it’s my fault. I raised the concern about the fire-hazard a one-legged man in the galley might present. And like most things before the council, it spun out of control.”

“And he’s angry at me?” Silver turned to look at the way Randall was glaring at her. “Because I’m an alternative the men don’t have to search for.”

“He’s got a raw deal, Mister Silver,” Groot offered. “The least we could do is let the man say his peace.”

Silver nodded and wiped her hands before heading over to where Randall was leaning. “I’m sorry Randall.”

“It’s not fair,” Randall argued in his staid tone. “I _can_ cook.”

“I know you can,” Silver agreed. “The issue seems to be with what you cannot do.”

Before she could go on, Randall glared harder. “He’s a thief.”

Silver froze. _What?_

“What are you talking about, Randall?” Dr. Howell asked.

And before he opened his mouth Silver could see the gleam of triumph in Randall’s eyes. “They thought I was asleep at Miss Guthrie’s tavern. I ‘eard ‘er talking. It wasn’t Singleton stole the page, it was ‘im.”

_Shit,_ thought Silver, but didn’t deny it, as she knew that would only make her look guilty. “What are you talking about, Randall?”

“Randall,” DeGroot said from behind her. “Are you being truthful?”

“Say ‘e has the schedule in ‘is head. That he learned it to stop Flint from murdering him.”

_Jesus Christ, woman._ Silver fumed, trying to think his way out of this. It would be simple enough to call Billy in here and get him to refute this, but the damage would already be done with DeGroot and Howell and whoever else got pulled in. It was then that she noticed the pleased look on Randall’s face. He wasn’t as simple as everyone thought he was. Physically, yes, he’d been beaten and she could tell from the way he moved and talked that there was some damage to his brain and the way he interacted with the world, but that didn’t necessarily mean that his _mind_ was damaged, just forced to be slow.

The clever shit.

But unlucky for him, she’d been trained to outthink hunting wolf _packs._ “Randall,” she crouched in front of him so that he could see her eyes and she his. “Are you really accusing me of stealing and both Billy and Captain Flint of _lying_ just so you can get your spot on the crew back?”

It took a second longer than it would for a normal person, but she saw the moment of realization hit him followed by a second of panic. _There._

“Does your position with the crew really mean that much to you?”

His face turned mulish. “I ‘eard ‘er.” He insisted.

_Shit._ Silver straightened. “You heard Miss Guthrie accuse me of stealing. Did you happen to hear Max’s name in there?”

DeGroot stepped forward when Randall frowned and looked aside. “What do you mean?”

“I think he’s confused,” Silver offered. “He has spent the last few days under a rather heavy cloud of opium. But I _was_ in with the Guthrie woman and Flint along with Billy and Gates, they _did_ ask me about the schedule. To be fair, I am the only crewman from the _Fair Carolina_ they could ask. There were threats thrown about the room and at one point I’m sure Flint did actually threaten to murder me. But the only thing I’ve ever stolen from Eleanor Guthrie is Max and that through no fault of my own.”

The thing was, everything she said was true and it was believable _because_ she believed it. But that didn’t mean Randall was wrong. She just needed to give Randall what he wanted without letting him sacrifice her in the process.

“What if I vouched for him?”

Randall, DeGroot and Dr. Howell turned to look at her.

“Why would you do that?” DeGroot asked.

Silver shrugged. “I do feel guilty he’s been pushed out on my account. And I’ll be in the galley with him, so there’s no need to worry about a fire-hazard.” She leaned forward so that she had Randall’s undivided attention. “And I really don’t want to watch you die for falsely accusing me of theft.”

His eyes went wide and she knew she had him then. But then DeGroot went on about getting the Quartemaster and she shook her head.

“You’re a thief,” Randall accused her.

Silver frowned and straightened, she thought she’d figured that one-

“You’re a thief,” Randall pointed at Dr. Howell.

“What?” he started.

_“You’re_ a thief,” Randall pointed at DeGroot.

“Right,” Silver huffed and spun on her heel. “I’ll just go talk to Billy, shall I?”

DeGroot caught her arm before she could march passed him and turned her to face him. “You tell me right now that whatever this was, that whatever Randall may have heard-”

“I have never ripped a page out of a logbook in my entire life,” Silver told him with complete honesty while staring him in the eye.

* * *

Billy and Gates stared at her, glanced at each other and then back at her.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy muttered. “He said that’s what he heard?”

Beside her, Dr. Howell, who’d followed her over when she insisted on tell the boatswain, heaved a sigh as if relived. “So it’s not true?”

“Singleton had the page,” Billy insisted.

Gates huffed and stormed off while a litany of curses left his lips. All three of them watched for a moment before Billy turned back to the doctor.

“We don’t need this,” Billy huffed. “Dr. Howell, please tell me that I don’t need to bring evidence to prove Randall a liar. We don’t need to hang him right before we leave. Not now.”

Dr. Howell swallowed. “It’s been handled. We just though you should be made aware.”

“I’m aware,” Billy nodded, looking relieved. “Please make sure he’s comfortable.”

Silver started to follow the doctor when he turned away but Billy grabbed her shoulder. “Silver, just a minute, if you don’t mind.”

Silver nodded and stayed close when Billy stalked toward the ocean so that they weren’t overheard. “What’s happened?”

“Gates talked to Flint,” Billy started. “He says the Captain’s going to take the pardon.”

Silver stared at him for a minute. It didn’t mesh with what she’d heard of the fearsome Captain Flint. It didn’t mesh with what she’d _seen_ of the man. “What?”

“He says the Captain wants to ‘sequester’ a portion of the prize to build an independent Nassau.”

“Jesus,” Silver blinked, ignoring the verbal finger quotes she could hear around the word sequester, she thought about it. As she though, Billy kept talking.

“He told me England was coming, and that he wanted to build an independent Nassau with him as it’s King. God, he said that before he beat Singleton to death. I knew then the man was a bit crazy but now Gates says he basically going to steal from the men in order to do it.

But that? That sounded like the man she was getting to know. And that… “Is possible.”

Billy stopped, “What?”

“Think about it, Billy. What would you need to start a new colony?”

He stared at her, “We’re not a colony,.”

“The means to sustain yourself,” she started ticking off her fingers. “A means of shipping merchandize to drive economy; a governing body; the means to protect yourself – Nassau is a colony if you think about it. But not of England.”

“But we’re thieves,” Billy argued. “Pirates. And Flint said England was coming for us because they’d branded us monsters and needed to civilize us.”

“They’ve been coming for Nassau since pirate murdered their appointed governor back in… oh, what was it? 1705? They’ve only ramped up talks in Whitehall since the Lord Proprietor was murdered by pirates-”

And Silver froze, her eyes widening at the realization.

Since early childhood, Silver had been gifted with an extraordinary memory. She could remember everything she saw or heard. But remembering that information didn’t mean she _knew_ that information, not and understand the connections and connotations of the information. That’s where her training had come in. utilizing the information in her mind to make sure she thought more than ten steps ahead of her opponents; ten steps ahead of those with instincts that kept them sharp and urges that told them _she_ was the dangerous one.

She remembered her grandfather talking about the Spanish Succession, and how helping his wife’s cousin, Philip V put down an insurrection in the east had helped the man claim the Spanish Throne. Months later, there was a conversation about the Székely Revolt in Hungaria and the thousands that had died, including the Székely Prince, Voivode Nicholas Neuri Örlöcz Kovasna. How that man’s death had broken the resistance and allowed _Argent_ free access into wolf-riddled territory. As a young girl, she remembered her mother telling her bedtime stories about the fearless border guards of the Covasna Province in Hungary, and the Prince who led his people because he was the only one born of all six kindreds, whose family reached back touching each of the four great lineages in each kindred tribe dating back to the time of Herodotus. And she knew then.

Billy shook her from her reverie. “What is it?”

“Where’s Flint?”

“Gone to hold the Barlow woman to account, so Gates says.”

Silver nodded but privately thought not, not if Flint was planning on taking the pardon. Though how he would do so if the Barlow woman’s letter never reached its intended target, she wasn’t sure. Instead, she walked him back to the cook tent with her. “Tell me what you know of Nassau’s history.”

What one man knew would always been seen through a personal lens. So instead of keeping herself to Billy’s tale that afternoon, she made a project of asking everyone – those in the ‘know’ and those who weren’t – who came for a meal about it. And this is what she got.

* * *

With the death of Charles II came the Spanish Succession and the end to the supreme reign of the Spanish in the West Indies in the mid-1690’s. Privateers, who for decades had been pirating under the auspices of their homeland’s approval, were left to flounder in the crystal clear waters of the Bahamas. So many turned to outright piracy. Among them, Captain Avery of the _Fancy._ He mastered the Pirate Round, taking the largest single prize in history - £600,000 in precious metals, jewels and goods – making him a very rich, very wanted man and launching the first worldwide manhunt. It was during that skirmish that he was set upon by a wolf and introduced to the supernatural world.

He was dubbed ‘the Arch Pirate’ and left the Pirate Round to join fellow seasoned privateer turned pirate Captain Hornigold making a name for themselves harassing what was left of the French and Spanish fleet in the Bahamas. Hornigold, he found was also a ‘turnskin,’ being able to slip into another form, though his was entirely different. It was in the Bahamas that they met Captain Murray of the _Walrus,_ also a ‘turnskin’ like Avery, but an alpha with red eyes and control. The three formed a close bond, banding together to take even larger prizes and defend themselves from reprisals.

Under Hornigold was a brilliant tactician called Captain Blackbeard of the _Queen Anne’s Revenge._ He saw their bond as a threat and challenged Murray for the right to lead their flotilla. He lost, but in the fight, he pushed Murray far enough for the werewolf to bite him, thereby forever changing him and their dynamic. Blackbeard saw right away the advantages of their nature and helped convince the men to make official their alliance in what is now known as the ‘Republic of Pirates’ but it wasn’t until after the Franco-Spanish Rosario Raid on Nassau in 1703 which leveled the town that they gained legitimacy and Blackbeard saw a way to push Avery out of the right-hand spot beside Murray. They partnered with Richard Guthrie and convinced the Governor Trott of the Bahamas to turn a blind eye by running Avery’s _Fancy_ aground to strip her goods and cannon to outfit the fort to protect Nassau from future raids. Avery, knowing that Blackbeard would challenge him next for control of the pirate flotilla, instead disappeared, taking his treasure with him.

It took Blackbeard 2 years before he could get rid of Murray, taking the alpha power from him and leaving the _Walrus_ without a captain. Immediately after gaining leadership in the middle of 1705, Blackbeard dragged the Governor and his family out into the street and murdered them. He instituted a vicious series of laws and tests for the men who wanted to join the ‘Republic’ or gain any kind of leadership role. Men must fight to the death just to join a crew, and any who wanted a position of leadership were bitten and only gained the right to challenge in vote if they survived.

Into that fray came Flint, already a wolf, who convinced the quartermaster and crew of the _Walrus_ to let him lead. It wasn’t until 1708 that things got bad enough with Blackbeard as lead that Hornigold mustered enough support among the men and township to oppose the alpha. A deal was struck between Hornigold, Flint, a young Eleanor Guthrie and Blackbeard’s 1st mate, Charles Vane. Hornigold would give Vane his _Ranger,_ Flint would depose Blackbeard, Hornigold would get the fort and be responsible for the towns protection, and Eleanor would support their newfound ‘Republic.’ Blackbeard, being no fool, left before Flint could kill him and take the Alpha power.

Two years later, the crew of the _Walrus_ took the _Maria Aleyne_ and Flint murdered Archibald Hamilton, the Lord Proprietor of the Bahamas, and his wife.

* * *

Silver turned when Billy approached her later that evening.

“Flint’s back.”


	7. VII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly there. Also. Silver is a bamf.

_**1715 – Nassau, New Providence Island** _

Silver was directed to Guthrie’s where O’Malley was cleaning tables with jerky movements, his gaze constantly drawn to the back room. Silver entered slowly, her eyes checking every body still in the main room. When her gaze met O’Malley, he jerked his head to the back room and Silver moved to the curtained door, stopping at the entrance and seeing through the drawn curtain. There stood Eleanor in a red skirt and dark jacket, and Flint right in front of her. Their faces were very close. She wondered if she would be seeing something she probably shouldn’t when Flint tipped his chin up and kissed Eleanor on the forehead before shifting to the side.

As Flint stepped toward the door, he saw Silver standing there and startled, his eyes widening a bit at her new look, before he walked forward quickly, catching her elbow in his hand and dragging her with him as he walked out of the tavern and onto the street. They were halfway to the beach before he stumbled and she yanked her elbow from his grip in time to catch his shoulder.

“Are you drunk?”

Flint nodded, “Completely fucking pissed.”

Silver blinked at him. “I didn’t think you _could_ get drunk.”

“Mister Scott puts aconite in the wine,” Flint shook his head and straightened before eyeing her distaste. “What the hell did you do?”

“Got new clothes,” she snapped, pushing him out of the middle of the street until he could lean against one of the buildings. “Are you telling me Mister Scott _poisons_ the men?”

“Not in the grog for most of the men, just in the wine for officers. And not enough to kill, just enough to get a tingle in their extremities, and enough to make _us_ feel it if we drink enough,” Flint reached forward and curled a finger into her hair. “I like the hair.”

Silver froze. She had the distinct feeling that had he been sober, he never would have voiced his opinion, or let himself touch her. As it was, she couldn’t help the way her chest tightened and her breath caught. She’d always been hyper-aware of him. Ever since he’d come out of his cabin on the _Walrus_ with that logbook in his hand and captivated the crew with a few softly spoken words. He frightened her, no doubt. Any man capable of beating another to death with his bare hands was a level of violent she wasn’t sure she could accept, let alone handle. But when he’d caught her in the wrecks, she hadn’t felt fear. Not really. She’d been afraid, no doubt. But fear wasn’t the foremost emotion on her mind when he’d pushed his body against hers, wrapped his hand around her throat and pricked her skin with just his claws. No. She wanted to test his control, to _push_ him. To see just how far and just how much she could get away with before he lost that iron grip on the caged, ravenous beast snarling within that reveled in violence and demanded blood and surrender.

She’d wanted to _submit._

It’s why she’d instinctively bared her throat to him, even while denying him what he wanted. And why, later in the Guthrie woman’s office, she’d denied him the rest of the schedule, despite their deal. It was a game, albeit with deadly consequences should one of them miscalculate.

But right now? He wasn’t playing. He didn’t even have his guard up, instead he seemed… hurt. And Silver felt oddly protective when she should have pushed to take extreme advantage. Silver glanced around, very aware of his finger in her curl as she check the street to see who might be watching. When she saw no one, she stepped forward, pushing into his space.

Flint inhaled and instinctively froze as she pushed her head under his hand, tangling his fingers further in her hair. “What?”

Silver eyed him, his blown pupils and red eyes, his flushed and slightly feverish skin. He’d been drinking for a while. “What happened?”

His glassy eyes focused. “When?”

“Billy said you’d gone to confront the Barlow woman.”

His face went into a rictus of anger before slowly melting back off into a hazy despair. “Can there be joy here?” he asked without expecting an answer.

Silver had supposed right; the woman had betrayed him in some manner. Without waiting for an explanation, she turned, careful to keep his attention on her face and his hand in her hair and she ducked a shoulder under his and wrapped an arm around his waist. Pulling him off the wall and back into a walk took almost all her strength; he was one hundred eighty centimeters of solid muscle without an ounce of fat on him. As they walked she couldn’t help but notice his barrel chest, arms as thick around as her thighs, a trim waist and steady legs despite the drink. You could always tell a sailor from any other drunk man; they could still walk pissed three sheets to the wind, even if it wasn’t a very well.

They meandered a fairly straight line down to the beach and along the bungalows built just off the shifting sands to the one second to the last. It had a sturdy porch under a thick thatched palm roof that she suspected would be much cooler than the tarpaulin tents the men put up on the beach. On the porch was a simple table and chair but inside was a hidden cache of luxurious comfort. Nothing rich or so fine as to be an item of interest for theft, but well-made and, she could tell, well cared for.

They stumbled toward a bed laid long against the far wall, where she dropped him before turning to light the glass hurricane lamp she’d spied on the desk in the dark. Once lit, she took a look around, marveling at her glimpse of the inner workings of the man.

First, the desk was actually a desk with drawers and finely dovetailed corners and not just a repurposed table. The chair was a simple thing, sturdy and worn, but also finely made to match the simple elegance of the desk. She imagined they’d been a choice piece taken from a prize on its way to the colonies to furnish some well-to-do business mans office. On either side of the desk were a pair of chests, one a thick waterproof locker nearly all officers in the English Navy were given to store below their bunks. The second was a fine oak, tooled on the front and top to depict a garden filled with fruit and frolicking nymphs. On the opposite wall stood a brace of shelves, thickly made and heavily scarred but full of leather bound books and tomes and logs and rolled charts. The bed itself was an actually bed and not a rope-strung cot covered with cloth-wrapped straw. She suspected the thick bottom pad was one of those packed with heavy wool and cotton, and the thinner top pad actually filled with goose-down.

She suspected from just this glimpse that Flint was a man who yearned for the finer things, fought for those that would stand up to the test of time, but didn’t think himself deserving of them.

With a sigh, she set the lamp on the chest closer to the bed and slowly approached the captain, wary of startling him. He straightened out of his slump as she neared, the gleam of his sea-glass colored eyes just barely visible between thick, pale lashes. She reached for his sword belt and helped pull it off over his head and shoulder. Draping it over the chair she turned back to see him starting to shrug out of his jacket. She had to stand rather close to draw the sleeves down his arms. As she bent over him to tug his wrists free, he leaned his head against her vulnerable belly.

Silver froze for only a moment, brushing aside the warning in her head that said he could rend and tear with teeth. The belt and sash followed the jacket to the chair and she turned back to tentatively place her hand atop his head. When he didn’t immediately pull away from her, she carded her fingers through his thick hair, tugging the ribbon securing it at his nape free and letting it fall to the floor. He sighed and leaned more heavily against her before pulling back to brace himself on his hands.

He looked up at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping my captain,” she tipped her head as she took in the rest of his clothes. The waistcoat would need to go, along with the boots, but she’d leave him the shirt and trousers if he didn’t have any smallclothes. “If you sleep in the nude, let me know now so that I can get Billy in here to finish undressing you.”

“Why?” He teased, showing his teeth. “Afraid I’ll bite?”

Silver rolled her eyes and leaned forward to start unbuttoning his waistcoat. “More likely that you’ll fall on your face. If you haven’t noticed, I’m rather lean. Don’t think I have the strength to heave you up from the floor.”

“Oh, I noticed,” he smirked, shifting to lean on one arm and catching her hip with the other hand. “You look like a sleek cat in these clothes. Better than a soaked sea rat.”

Silver froze, the separated lapels of his velvet waistcoat clenched in her fingers. His hand was large enough to span her entire hip, his fingers lightly digging into the muscle above her buttocks, his thump hooking over the new belt to press in to the arch of her iliac crest.

“Captain?”

“Don’t worry,” he answered her unspoken question gruffly as he straightened and shrugged out of the vest. “I don’t take liars to my bed. It’s the one place I do value honesty above all else.”

She stepped back so she wasn’t standing between his knees, the waistcoat clutched tightly to her suddenly pounding chest. As he bent to deftly untie his boots she eyed him and thought about that revealing statement and what it said about how much he understood about her. “Have you sobered enough to have this conversation? Or should I come back tomorrow morning?”

He looked up at her as he pulled off one boot. “What conversation?”

She looked at his eyes and saw that the hazy sheen was gone and his pupils were no longer dilated. “Randall accused me of stealing the page this afternoon.”

Flint froze with the second boot in his hand. “Did you kill him or did Billy?”

“He’s still alive,” she confessed and then startled when he threw the boot across the room to thump heavily against the bookshelves. She stumbled back a couple steps when he stood and loomed over her even in bare feet, explaining quickly to stave off his ire. “Both DeGroot and Doctor Howell were aware of his accusations, but I managed to convince Randall that he must have misheard Miss Guthrie and both the ship master and good doctor let the matter rest.”

“How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Billy backed me up.”

After of moment, Flint snorted then proceeded to untie his shirt at the wrist and throat before catch the back of the neck and pulling the shirt up and off. Distracted by the sight of his bare chest and the still healing slash wound Singleton had managed, she didn’t notice him stepping closer until his hand came up to pry her fingers loose from his vest. “Planning to make off with something else of mine?”

She nearly shivered at the low timbre of his tease before she convulsively let go of the velvet cloth and took a step back. “I’m sorry.”

He ignored her startled apology and silently took the waistcoat from her to toss it, along with his shirt, over the back of the chair as he just looked at her. “Anything else I should be made aware of?”

Silver met that sea-glass gaze, opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head.

After a long minute he huffed and reached for the placket of his trousers. “Then unless you want your delicate sensibilities infringed upon, I suggest you find your own tent.”

Her eyes widened as he shoved down his dark trousers leaving him in nothing more than a thin pair of white breeches. She abruptly turned and fled the bungalow, his low chuckles chasing her down the beach.

She was nearly to the tent she shared with Logan and Muldoon before she realized the implication of his words.

* * *

The next day dawned bright and early with both crews of the _Ranger_ and _Walrus_ working to stock their ships of powder, cannon and supplies. It was a common sight to see the quartermasters of each ship ferried back and forth as they oversaw the careful process of balancing the load in each ship. And while both Gates and Rackham were often seen conferring with one another, Vane stayed well away from Flint and vice versa.

It set the tone for the way the crews interacted with each other; wary avoidance.

Which worked well enough in Silver’s favor as she had several worrying interpersonal issues to tend with in the light of a new day. DeGroot had given her a wary nod when she’d come aboard with Randall, having convinced the crew council to let him stay so long as she oversaw his presence in the galley, to get him settled in a hammock near the vegetable barrels so that he could continue to peel potatoes in relative comfort. Doctor Howell, on the other hand, wouldn’t look her in the eye as he measured Randall’s leg for a boot and left for the market to purchase what he would need. It was worrying, but not alarming, so she didn’t think anything of it until Mister Dufresne became unusually terse whenever she happened to be around. What made it worse was that both Gates and Dufresne seemed to be some sort of accord. It made the skin between her shoulder blades tighten in a way that she knew to pay attention to.

She found Billy supervising the loading of the longboats on shore. “I think we may have a problem.”

Billy was, admittedly, distracted. “Can it wait?”

“Sure,” Silver crossed her arms and made sure not to smirk at the way the _Ranger’s_ boatswain was eyeing her with disgust. “If you don’t mind it blowing up in your face in the middle of the ocean with nothing but the Floridian coast in sight.”

He gave her a longsuffering look before calling over one of the _Walrus_ crew that could read to continue marking off his list. “Come with me,” Billy started up the beach.

As they started away, the _Ranger_ boatswain called out, “The Captains want this finished before nightfall! You can take turns on your whore after we’re finished!”

And Silver, being distracted as she was and annoyed in turns didn’t watch her words as closely as she usually would, called back, “Don’t be jealous, Mister Hammond, I’m sure some pour soul will suck your cock if you pay them enough!”

The laughter behind them was raucous and Silver put it out of her mind in an effort to focus on the other problem she had. They stopped, oddly enough, near Flint’s bungalow.

“What did Gates tell you?”

“What?” Billy crossed him arms and eyed her. “You want to gossip about the quartermaster? Christ Silver, I thought-”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. You and I handled the issue yesterday. DeGroot is fine, but Doctor Hammond won’t even look at me and Dufresne is giving me the eye. So what did Gates say?”

“The eye? You’re worried about Dufresne-”

“If _you_ didn’t say anything what am I supposed to think?”

“Maybe Dufresne just doesn’t like-”

“Billy, don’t,” Silver stepped closer and made him look her in the eye. “Just tell me so I can _handle_ it.”

Billy heaved a sigh. “Gates is going to call council once we have the gold."

And Silver got it. She knew what that would mean. Not only would Flint’s actions; his lies and the murder of Singleton, almost assuredly remove him from the position of Captain of the _Walrus,_ but it would remove Billy as a co-conspirator.

“What about you?”

“He said it was up to me.” For a man like Billy to tell one truth would be to tell another. He would lie to protect his captain, but he wouldn’t lie to protect himself. It was an honorable line to draw in the proverbial sand, but stupid and self-sacrificing nonetheless.

“And Dufresne?”

“Gates has been talking to him.” Billy shrugged but Silver could see the hurt in it. Gates had once talked to Billy, but it seemed these last few days had driven a wedge between them. “I assume so that he can get a clear thought on what the council might say.”

Or more likely, so someone would have the whole story should Gates back down at the last second, or worse. It was a surprisingly shrewd back-up plan, but Silver suspected nothing less of the man who’d been Flint’s second for ten years.

Either way, it spelled disaster for her should she be on the ship when this all went down, and that wasn’t something she was willing to let happen.

So she had three choices. One; she could just run, leave without telling anyone and make her way to Port Royal, knowing that she’d have to watch over her shoulder for Flint to hunt her down for not telling him the _Urca_ schedule. Two; she could tell him and then run, washing her hands of the whole thing and hope no one came after her. Or three; warn Flint and hope he knew what to do to handle the brewing mutiny.

As she stared at Billy, thinking about her choices, Hammond and two of his cronies came up on them. One of them, Sayers moved forward to grab her. In a move that was so practiced it was instinctual, Silver switched their grips, twisted his arm and yanked. Then she spun and rammed stiffened fingers under his jaw, letting go of him as he fell toward the ground, gasping and clutching his throat with one hand. Had she twisted harder, his arm would have broken, and by the way the man was cradling the limb, Sayers knew it.

Billy’s jaw dropped.

Silver just stared at Hammond, the man who’d obviously instigated this confrontation as Sayers skittered back from her.

Silence fell over the men on the beach, quickly spreading as eyes turned toward the threat of violence. Her speed and viciousness must have shocked more than Hammond because the other men – and there were quite a few from the _Ranger_ gathering, including several of the _Walrus_ men – surrounding her tensed and glanced at each other.

As Hammond sneered and gathered himself, Billy attempted to deflect, holding up his hands and warding off most of the men with sharp words. But eight men, including Hammond – those eight must have been his closest followers – moved forward, together.

Silver’s eyes moved, glancing at each of the guys surrounding her. None were older than mid-twenties and thirties, all young, and angry who Hammond must have stoked and primed for violence at the least provocation. A darting glance showed the older fighters kept their places, smart enough to know that one didn’t go after a fighter of unknown capabilities. Even Vane, Rackham and Anne Bonny stood on the sidelines, quietly watching.

Silver grinned, dark winged brows rising above piercing blue eyes and wide lips showing her teeth. She knew it looked slightly psychotic and didn’t care. She was frustrated, cornered, and _itching_ for a fight. She relaxed all her muscles and waited, fists loosely curled. Maybe they could put one over on her but she had ears and been in enough group training fights that ended in blood and broken bones to know the signs of someone preparing to attack her back.

She stepped to the side as the guy behind her moved forward to punch her unprotected back. She stuck out her leg and tripped him so he stumbled into his buddies. The smile didn’t leave her face as she spun on the other foot in a move reminiscent of ballet, building up momentum. She swung an elbow into the jaw of the first guy who’d been the distraction. One down.

Men dove out of the way, towards the edges of circle as her movement quickly whirled further outward. She swung a fist into the nose of the next guy, not even wincing as blood exploded outward, spraying across her face. Two. She ducked under the punch of another and jammed her heel down onto the instep of a third. She grabbed the guy who swung at her and tugged him forward, off balance, into her raised knee. Three.

Silver fought dirty and fast. One movement bled into another and she wasn’t afraid to be violent; it was the only language these pirates respected. She used her opponents against each other and made her blows count; targeting their vulnerabilities and not holding back. One got inside her guard and landed and blow on her jaw. She saw it coming and turned with it – the only reason she wasn’t down in the sand – spinning to return the blow with her heel and hearing a crunch. Four. When Hammond used the moment to grab her around the neck, she used her feet to break the wrist of one man and the nose of another. Five. Then she twisted her legs and used Hammond as a fulcrum, spinning about and out of his grip to slam him to the sand, her knees in his back. Two guys charged her while she was down, and Silver surged to her feet, flipping out of the way and landing on Flint’s porch, belly down. She swung her body up onto her hands and pivoted, kicking one assailant in the teeth. The other tried stomping her and she rolled to the side and grabbed his over-extended leg. Her hand shot out, straight like a knife to hit the side of his knee. Something popped. He shouted and fell. Six.

Silver rolled, arched her body and spring to her feet. She twisted her upper body, new, tighter clothes slipping from grasping fingers and dodged a punch. Her eyes narrowed and she grabbed the arm of the guy punching at her, swung around to his back, pulling it with her. She tugged, hearing a pop and kicked his legs out from under him. His mouth opened in pain and swiftly brought up her knee to impact the back of his head, using her foot to topple him forward. Seven.

Hammond was last and he switched his eight from foot to foot, grinning. This man was a fighter; boatswain of the _Ranger_ and leader of their vanguard, probably the best in the group.

And she was already tiring. She could feel her muscles screaming at her, and bright points of pain where their blows had landed. But no matter how good he thought he was, one simple man was never going to scare her. Silver grinned back and twisted, placing her hand on the downed guy’s head and kicking the guy behind her in the jaw with the ball of her foot. Eight.

He fell, jaw nearly broken, and she landed off to the side and stepped forward to Hammond. He swung and she dodged to the side. He smirked, switched leading hands and swung at her again. She spun on her toes and came up behind him, punching him three times along his spine before he stumbled away. He turned and reached for her and she stepped back, spun, pivoted on her foot and kicked his wrist. The fingers loosened, nerves shot. But her balance was terrible in the shifting sand and she fell. Hammond lunged for her, intending to trap her under his superior weight. She rolled away, flexed her arms and twisted her foot to catch his elbow. She grabbed his hand by the wrist, jerked it up and bent a couple of his fingers with her other hand. His knees gave away. She punched him in the nose.

As Silver straightened she knew how it looked. She’d beaten them fair and without weapons. For most that would be enough and the end of it. She also knew that these men and their wounded pride would never let her live now that she proven a slip of a boy could beat proven fighters using slick moves only days after stealing a prize whore from beneath their noses using trickery and a clever explosive.

Her eyes darted around the onlookers and spied what she needed. She took a step and pulled a long knife from one of the startled men, ignoring his affronted shout as she turned back to the nine, including Hammond, who bled onto the sand with every intension of slitting their throats to protect her own skin.

“Enough.”

Silver froze. It had been said quietly and from behind her, but she knew that voice. Someone had fetched Flint from the _Walrus._ She lifted her eyes to catch Vane’s across the crowd. His brow was pinched but there was no anger in his face at her intentions. He obviously didn’t mind if she rid his crew of a few men who obviously couldn’t beat a slim boy. She started forward again and stopped only when a warm hand grabbed her shoulder from behind.

“Silver, enough.”

She grit her teeth. “They’ll not let it go.”

“No,” Flint agreed, stepping forward into her sight, all the while eyeing Vane as if to say this was his fault. “But we need all the fighters we can muster to take on the _Urca._ You can’t kill Hammond yet.”

By now, some of the injured were being helped to their feet, though all kept a wide birth from Hammond who still knelt on the sand, one hand clutching his broken nose and the other cradled close to his chest. Vane took a few steps forward, his piercing gaze encouraging those that could to get out of his way, as he closed the distance to his boatswain. He stopped with arms crossed to look dispassionately down at the injured man. “Can you fight?”

Hammond grimaced and spit blood onto the sand. “That fucking little shit broke my fingers.”

“That mean you can’t fight?” Vane asked without changing the inflection of his voice. But something in the way he said it made the men of the _Ranger_ take notice.

Hammond lunged to his feet and stood there, legs braced as he faced his Captain. “I can fight.”

“Good,” Vane said without sounding approving. “Now get these men fixed up and ready to fight tomorrow as well or it’s coming out of your share.”

“Captain,” Hammond started, “What are we going to do about the fucking whelp?”

Vane turned to look at Hammond in the eyes. “Absolutely fucking nothing.”

“This unlicked cub took out eight of our men,” Hammond started. “That needs answering.”

“To my eye,” Vane turned, squaring up with the boatswain. “You got insulted, and instead of calling the boy out, you got eight other men involved against a fighter you obviously couldn’t beat. It’s been answered.”

“Fuck you,” Hammond spit and turned to Silver. “And fuck you! First chance I get I’m gonna slit your throat and skull fuck you ‘til your body’s cold.”

Silver lunged for him, only held back by Flint’s grip on her shirt. To her immense satisfaction, Hammond flinched. When he met her eyes again, she grinned at him. “You’re already dead,” she hissed. To her surprise he stepped back. “Mark my words; once you leave tomorrow you’ll never step foot on Nassau sand again.”

There were sudden whispers among the men; she was already known for her trickery. Now that the men knew she could fight and fight well, they weren’t likely to cross her again. But even if she knew why Vane was leery of her tricks, that didn’t explain the wary way Hammond looked at her. The Captain of the _Ranger_ gave her one last look over his shoulder before he began barking orders at the rest of his crew, chivvying Hammond and the injured along before him.

Flint turned her toward him, frowning as he took in her appearance. “Billy, fetch the doctor.”

Silver clenched her fists at the sudden sound of movement behind her and then looked down, surprised to see a blade in her hand. She didn’t really remember grabbing it though, as she turned to look at the men still standing near, she remembered the man’s face and look of surprise as she’d done so. “Here,” She called when she spied him and took a step forward, blade held out hilt first. “Your knife.”

Instead of taking it from her, the man who she finally recognized as Sean, one of the gunners on the _Walrus,_ untied the sheath from his belt and held it out to her. “May it serve you as well as it’s done me.”

She blinked at him but finally took the sheath instead of let it drop when he nearly shoved it at her. When Flint snorted at her, she hurriedly slid the knife in the sheath and tucked it into her belt. His hand on her shoulder guided her back, away from the beach and up onto his porch.

“Come on,” he said as he pushed her inside into the cool darkness of his bungalow. “Let’s take a look at you.”

Familiar with his room, she started toward the desk chair only to be guided to sit on his bed.

“Boots off, Silver,” Flint explained when she gave him a wide-eyed look. “Your ankles are going to swell, same as your wrists. And I’m guessing there’s a few other bruises and cuts beside your lip.”

She reached up to her lip, only to wince when she touched where one of the men had split it. Blood was smeared across her mouth and down her chin. No wonder Vane had given her a considering look when she threatened Hammond. She must have seemed a fearsome thing with bloodied teeth and a crazed look in her eye. As she sat, she didn’t have time to marvel at the bed softness as the adrenaline seemed to drain out of her, leaving behind a bruised and bloodied body screaming agony and pain at every breath. Silver knew it wasn’t as bad as all that; the pain was only so overwhelming because it was the first time she was letting herself feel it. It would ebb as she got used to it.

“Feeling it now?” Flint asked as he bent and began untying her boot laces.

“Starting to,” Silver hissed as he lifted her heel and pulled off her boot. Her left ankle gave a warning throb but no sharp lances of pain shot up her leg. She wiggled her toes. “It’s not broken. Not even sprained.”

“Good,” Flint set it down and reached for the other. He slowed his movement when she jerked her leg back involuntarily at the warning throb in her right foot.

There was noise on his porch and then Billy appeared, carrying a few cloths, a slim brown clay bottle and a glass jug of watered wine. “Howell says to bind the wrists and ankles, wipe this on any open cuts and drink the wine.”

Flint looked up with a lifted brow as he took the clay bottle and a few of the cloths. “And Doctor Howell didn’t come here himself because…?”

Billy swallowed and glanced at Silver before answering, “He has the others to tend to.”

“Howell is not doctor to the _Ranger’s_ men,” Flint bit out.

“The _Ranger’s_ doctor is barely that, and not the surgeon Howell is,” Billy answered diplomatically.

Flint hummed but turned away, pouring a bit of the carbolic onto a cloth and holding it up to Silver. “You can clean that cut on your lip or take a swig of the wine, but both are going to sting like the devil and the cut must be cleaned, either way.”

Silver sighed and took both the carbolic soaked cloth and the bottle of watered wine and, taking deep breath bolted back a swig of the wine and then placed the cloth on her torn lip. Her hissing breath soon turned into a low wail as the burn of the carbolic acid lanced any infection there might have been while the wine spread its numbing heat too slowly. After that, Flint taking the cloth from her lip and dousing it again to clean her bleeding knuckles seemed like nothing but a bright spark of pain to distract her rather impressive collection.

It wasn’t until she focused to hear the men arguing in low tones that she became aware of a rather curious problem.

“You can go, Billy.” Flint argued.

Billy planted himself in the doorway. “I think I’ll stay.”

“I’ve got to check the ribs, make sure they’re not bruised. I don’t think Silver needs an audience for that.”

“I’m pretty sure Silver doesn’t need our Captain tending to the cook-”

“Boys,” Silver sighed without looking at either one. “He knows.”

There was a silence as both men contemplated that, and then Flint snorted and leaned forward, grabbing her elbows and pulling her to stand. “Billy, close the door. Silver, shirt up, I’ve got to check your ribs aren’t broken.”

Without a by your leave, he unhooked her belt and sash, dropping both along with her leather pouch and newly claimed knife to the bed and pulled her shirt up out of her trousers. When he noticed how she fumbled with the leather frogs on he vest, he quickly undid those as well but didn’t bother easing the vest off, just lifted it along with the tails of her tunic up under her armpits. He didn’t even blink at her breast band. “Can you hold it there?”

Silver clutched folds of fabric, carefully not to squeeze with her throbbing fingers as he ran his fingertips along each of her ribs, pressing gently at her bruises to make sure they didn’t sink in. it was methodical and done quickly and then he was pulling her shirt and vest back down and easing her back to a sit on his bed.

“Right foot,” he instructed as he dropped into the chair in front of her.

She fell back to her elbows and lifted her throbbing right foot into his lap.

“Still hurt?” he asked as he unlaced her boot.

She nodded, “Just the toes, though, now.”

He was gentle as he pulled her boot and sock off. But Silver didn’t really understand how strange that must have been until she got a good look at Billy’s face as he leaned against the wall beside the closed door. He looked both confused and a little lost, as if unsure how to deal with a captain who was caring instead of intimidating. It brought a low laugh out of her. When Flint met her eyes with a questioning look, she just waved her fingers in Billy’s direction. Flint turned, and from the look of mild confusion on his face, he must have honestly forgot Billy was in the room for a moment.

“Light the lamp, would you pup?” Flint turned back to Silver’s foot, and didn’t see the dawning look on Billy’s face.

But Silver did. It was three parts embarrassment, three parts chagrin, and one part adoration. Like Flint calling Billy a ‘pup’ had laid some claim to the young man and put to rest any fear of abandonment Billy may have been harboring. It was adorable and extremely personal, so she pretended not to see it, instead, sitting up as Billy brought the lamp closer to see her foot. Flint ran a gentle finger along the line of each toe and then pressed up on the second, third and fourth from underneath. The darkening blush of purple stemming from between them let her know that was where the injury was. But how bad she couldn’t tell just yet.

“How’s this hurt?”

And Silver knew from being asked that question countless times after hard training sessions that he wasn’t being facetious. Flint was genuinely asking her if they were broken or otherwise. She attempted to wiggle her toes and got movement, but a bright throb of pain for her efforts. But she knew what a break felt like and this wasn’t that. “Not broken,” she panted.

He nodded, obviously having come to that same conclusion. “Likely dislocated. All right, brace up,” Flint forced her knee up so that he could put her heel on the bed and line her foot flat, then taking the first toe between his thumb and middle finger, he looked up. “Count to three.”

She sucked in a breath, “One-”

He pulled the first one straight and she felt the sharp, bright _snap_ as it slid back into place and let out her breath in an explosive, _“Fuck!”_ as she curled forward over her knee. He pulled the second without waiting and she reached up to latch onto his shoulder, uncaring of the way her tight grip made her knuckled throb. The third was almost an afterthought but she gave a low moan as the vivid agony slowly settled into a low throb. “You asshole motherfucking _shit,”_ she hissed, prompting a startled laugh from him. It was only as he straightened that she realize she was still clutching the shoulder of his jacket. She let go with a sigh and pushed her foot off the bed to wiggle her tones in the air.

“Can you walk?” Flint stood, wiping his hands with the carbolic-soaked cloth.

She pushed herself up and stood, taking stock of all her injuries; split lip, throbbing jaw, sore ribs, throbbing joints, knuckles, ankles and toes. But everything moved the way it was supposed to without that razor-edged pain. She took a couple of steps and after the first two or three, she walked without a limp.

“Good,” Flint held out the clay bottle and rags to Billy. “Take those back to doctor Howell and tell him we will be having words. I want the men on the ship by nightfall; we sail at first light.”

At that, Billy met her gaze and she gave him a short nod before he took the items and made himself scarce. When she turned back to start collecting her things, Flint was holding out the bottle of wine.

“A few more gulps,” he stated as though handing out a prescription. “It will help you sleep tonight. Now what was that about?”

Silver took the bottle and a swig before she answered. “Do you remember the conversation we had last night?”

Flint stared at her for a moment before taking the bottle from her. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he asked, throwing his head back and swallowing a generous portion before he met her gaze again.

“Well,” Silver started carefully. “I think that depends on your definition of regret.”

“Shit.” Flint muttered.


	8. VIII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand I'm spent.

_**1715 – West Indies, Off the southern coast of Florida** _

They’d left Nassau with the dawn tide, sailing north at a crisp five knots toward the southern jut of the Floridian coast. All day long Captain and crew had kept a weather eye on the dark, boiling clouds coming up too fast from the east. By midafternoon the clouds spread across the horizon in front of them, tail winds already chilling the body and lashing waves against the hulls and the men knew they’d be sailing right into the wings of a tropical storm that could easily turn into a ship-killer hurricane. As night began to fall and the rain began, the Captain called “ _All hands on deck!_ ” and the men began to prepare for the worst.

Without quarters to man, Silver was left with Randall and Doctor Howell for company in the galley. She wondered if the captain had gotten to the good doctor at some point because the man apologized to her, explained that he’d been tending broken bones and such, and did she need him? Her toes gave a warning throb, but she waved him off and then tried to convince Randall of the benefits of an iron leg rather than a crutch. When the man threatened both her and Howell with his peeling knife, she gave it up as a lost cause.

“Mister Silver, how can I ever thank you?” she tucked the straps of the leg inside the boot and made sure the iron was secure. “First you save me from ending up as a stain on the _Walrus’_ underside, then you secure my position with the crew on the verge of a historic haul and if that weren’t enough, you’re still trying to find something comfortable to put at the end of my stump. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” She tossed the whole thing into Randall’s arms, smirking at the way he just stared at her. “You’re welcome.”

As the storm worsened, the fire in the galley was doused, the coals smothered. The food, though cooked would quickly become cold for those who could keep it down. Most of the men had years, if not decade at see, and still there were some who couldn’t handle the dips and rolls of a storm at full cry.

* * *

_“Alright,” Flint muttered after taking several more swigs of the wine. “Tell me.”_

_Silver took a deep breath, knowing his reaction could go either way. “Gates may be planning to mutiny.”_

* * *

Lightening broke the dark, streaking across the belly of the storm and casting the frightening ridges and deep hallows of monster waves into stark relief. The _Walrus_ and the _Ranger_ both rode the swells with weary aplomb, their sails furled and hatches battened down tightly. Silver could just make out the faint light from the cabin in the ship several hundred yards away and the desperate lunges of the oarsmen on the longboat between them. She’d heard from Billy when he came down at the shift change that Vane had chanced the crossing in order to discuss their plan. And she knew what that meant.

Silver clutched the ropes lashed across the decks and made her way across the quarterdeck to the Captain’s cabin.

* * *

_Flint just stared at her. “Gates.”_

_She nodded._

_“Gates?” When she didn’t answer him he swore and spun away from her. “The same man who’s been my quartermaster for ten years? My friend? He’s helped me keep control of the crew, control of the men from the start of this. He spent the last few weeks handling one mutiny already. What do you mean he’s planning to mutiny?”_

_“Billy and I think he’s told Dufresne.”_

* * *

Silver entered the cabin in a whoosh of wind and wave, pushing and latching the door shut behind her. As she turned, she could see Flint behind his desk, charts strewn across the surface. Vane and Gates bookending him, their legs spread to handle the rolling deck. Vane was unbuttoning a dark slicker, a towel in his hand to wipe the water from his face. He tossed it at her when she squeezed the water from her own hair and shirt.

“We make landfall in the morning,” Flint put a small pot of ink and a quill in front of her. “The last part of the schedule if you don’t mind.”

As she dried her face, she eyed Vane, but almost all of her attention was on the thin thread of animosity between Flint and Gates. She dropped the towel to the desktop and took up the quill, spreading her feet to brace against the roll of the waves as she pulled a piece of paper toward her and started writing. As she dipped her quill, Flint brought up a logbook and dropped it in front of him.

“What’s that?” she asked, eyeing the way he was eyeing her; like she was prey.

“My own reconnaissance,” he smirked “There are a dozen bays and inlets within a days journey that would make a reasonable location for the _Urca_ to take on water. If the course you write down leads to one of them, odds are your information is accurate.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Flint just stared at her.

* * *

_“Fuck Dufresne,” Flint cursed._

_Silver watched him pace. “You don’t think he’s a problem?”_

_“Dufresne is intelligent,” Flint started. Lifting a hand as if to wave that away. “It’s why I convinced Gates to take him on as part of the crew. He’s been fair to the men. The fact that he’s got a head for numbers and made it his goal to save the men money only endeared him to them further. But to rip a man’s throat out on his first fray at vanguard? Right now, the crew is listening to him.”_

_“So he’s a problem.”_

_“He’s dangerous, especially if Gates has convinced him that I’m the problem. But I can’t see Gates giving Billy up; he thinks of him as a son. He was angry with me last night for getting Billy involved.”_

_“That might be why he went to Dufresne in the first place.”_

_Flint stopped pacing. “You think Gates will have Dufresne convince the crew that Billy is necessary despite lying to them?”_

_“Yep,” Silver sighed. “And it will work. Because he is.”_

_“So we need Billy.”_

_“We need Billy to convince Gates.”_

* * *

Silver finished the few lines she’d held back before and handed over the page. Flint took it and carefully went over the directions, looking for any similarities to his own records. After a moment, he looked up. “Division Bay,” Flint said and the excitement in his voice was obvious. “The course leads to Division Bay.”

Silver grinned at him, glancing only momentarily at both Gates and Vane. It was easy to see that Vane shared the Captain’s enthusiasm for the coming fight, but Gates looked resigned. And she had the foreboding thought that he might not wait until _after_ they got the gold to mutiny.

“The shoal on the eastern shore, but if we approach from the windward we should be able to take up a strong opening position.”

“Why not come right at them?” Vane asked.

And Flint looked at Vane, really looked, without judgement or derision, because Vane’s question was genuinely curious.

Flint wrote a quick note for DeGroot to change their course and gave it to Gates. As the man left, Silver started after him only to be stopped by Flint. “Give Billy awhile. Then go find out if it’s been handled.”

Vane’s sharp gaze flicked between them. “More morale problems?” he smirked.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Flint bit out before leaning back in his chair and studying the other man. After a minute, he explained, “You asked why not come right at them.”

* * *

_They stood quietly for a moment as they thought about the implications of quelling yet another mutiny in as many days, before Flint sighed and gestured to his chair. “Sit. Let’s wrap your toes. Then you need to go make the men dinner.”_

_As he carefully rolled a small cloth to tuck between her toes so they wouldn't jostle in her boot, she marveled at this man who was equal parts merciless killer, ruthless tactician, loyal lover and apparently, caring father figure. He glanced up and caught her eye but didn’t say anything until he’d helped pulled on her sock and boot and stood to let her lace it up._

_“Anything else?”_

_“Just one more question,” she started and grinned when he gave a put upon sigh. “What’s an albatross?”_

* * *

“For one, they’d have time to prepare if they saw us coming. And against the Hulk we want as much of the element of surprise as we can muster,” Flint started.

“That only works if we come upon her in the bay. What if we find her in open water?”

It was here, in the little details that Silver could see the differences in their captaining style. Vane was a peerless fighter, unafraid of challengers and of taking on any target so long as he thought he had the upper hand. She caught glimpses of the bloody ruthlessness that Teach was known for, but also the strategy associated with Blackbeard as well. Vane didn’t go in blind waving a sword. He only went in waving the sword when he knew it would have the best possible results; and it often did. Flint, on the other hand, was meticulous, he liked to plan out every detail and leave nothing to chance. They spoke about how they would approach if they found the _Urca_ at anchor, in the open water, even among an escort. He played devil’s advocate with Vane, asking opinions, posing problems. There was learning – _training_ – under his ideas.

She’d seen glimpses of it before; he’d said ‘officers’ in Guthrie’s tavern; the Navy locker in his bungalow. It made her think he’d been part of the English Royal Navy before turning to piracy. That wouldn’t surprise her; many of the men were something else before they’d become a pirate. Hornigold was himself a Navy man before turning privateer during Queen Anne’s War and then becoming a pirate afterward. She wasn’t sure what Vane’s story was, but she bet he’d come from somewhere else before Blackbeard took him on as a quartermaster.

“The last thing we want to do is sink her,” Flint argued. “But we have to completely incapacitate if we’re to have any chance. That means chained cannon across her decks, heavy cannon along her hull. Don’t aim for the waterline and no Greek fire.”

“There’s also sixty heavy cannon aboard her, and the threat of sinking is usually enough to have them surrender.” Vane leaned forward to press his point. “A few cannon at the waterline and a splash of Greek fire in the water should get the same results.”

“The _Urca_ is Dutch built, three hundred and five tons. She was reinforced a few years ago to withstand a barrage.” Flint leaned back and waved a hand in the air. “A few cannon at her waterline is only going to mar the paint. You’d have to loose your entire stock of cannon at her waterline to even make your threat a valid one, and if you do you’re _going_ to sink her. Same with Greek fire; she’s been reinforced. That means more wood should she fire catch, and if it does there’s no controlling that blaze. It’s out of control in the span of minutes, not hours.”

“All right,” Vane leaned back and Flint blinked at him, as though surprised the other man agreed. “Now, in open water or in the bay, we’ll have a better chance of subduing her if we can catch her between us.”

Flint leaned forward then, his grin fierce.

* * *

_“What’s an albatross?” Flint repeated, a look of confusion on his face._

_“The men have started calling me that,” Silver explained when it looked like he was about to call her an idiot for questioning him about a large seabird. “Billy said you’d know what it meant.”_

_She couldn’t parse the look on his face as he stared at her until her muttered, “Of course they do.” After a moment he turned and settled on his bed and motioned for her to take his chair. “Have you ever heard the tale of the Ancient Mariner?”_

* * *

Morning dawned crisp and so clear the sky seemed to sear. The wind was brisk enough to send a fine spray into the air every time the Walrus cleaved through the crest of a wave. Tensions were high but the Florida coast was on their port side and the _Ranger_ off their starboard stern. They were ready and eager for a fight. Gates called out commands to the men aloft, Billy guided the men below and DeGroot stood at the helm, making sure the ship was at full heave. Logan and Dufresne checked their speed while sending and receiving signals to the _Ranger_ to make sure both ships were in accord as they hugged the coast and sped toward their destination and promised prize.

The flurry of men up and down the rigging as they adjusted their trim to stay in the wind became a bit more frenetic as Flint ordered them nearly aground in their efforts to stay out of sight until the very last second. The communication between the man at the bow and the man in the bird’s nest calling out depth and distance to shore was nearly seamless as DeGroot and Gates used the information to adjust heading and tack the sails. It was a well-oiled machine and Silver could see Flint’s pleasure in it as he surveyed it all from his position on the quarterdeck in front of the helm.

The man watched closely when Flint started pacing the upper rails between the quarterdeck and the fore, as they knew by the tension ratcheting up in him that they were getting close. When he pulled out his glass and started checking for landmarks, Billy quietly gave the order to double check the guns and prepare to a fight. The men on the gun deck moved swiftly and silently, taking their cues from Billy and keeping a weather eye on their captain.

Suddenly Flint collapsed his glass. “Listen here!”

* * *

_“It’s an old sea legend,” Flint started. “Told from a time when the Earth was flat and to sail beyond the horizon meant sailing off the edge of the world. It’s about a ship passing the Line and driven by storms to the cold country at the bottom of the world; and how from there the Mariner made his course to the tropics of the Great Pacific; and of the strange things that befell him there, and how he came back to his own country, a changed man.” *1_

_Silver gathered her things in her lap as she sat on his chair and listened to the change in cadence in his voice, as though he were settling in to tell the story in more than just words. “What does an albatross have to do with any of that?”_

_A corner of his lip lifted along with his sea glass eyes. “It flew alongside the ship as it caught fair winds and calm seas, sometimes even landing on the bow of the ship to briefly rest its wings. On one such landing, the Ancient Mariner shot the bird. That very night a thick fog rolled in and a storm blew them south and horribly off course. When the men found the dead bird on the bow, they blamed the Mariner for their turn in luck and said it was only right that he wear the dead bird like a weight around his neck to remind him of his error.”_

_Silver blinked at him. “So an albatross is good luck while it flies with you and a weight around one’s neck when crossed?”_

_“Salvation or destruction; as all good morals proclaim.”_

_“But what if something goes bad that’s not the bird’s fault?”_

_“Well,” Flint’s smirk deepened. “That’s where legend begins.”_

* * *

The men turned their heads, even those in the rigging stilled to hear their captain.

“When we clear the point ahead and spot the _Urca_ at anchor we’ll begin our final run at her. The Spanish banner may earn us a few hundred yards of confusion before the captain identifies us and opens fire. So we’ll close fast on her, hammer her well with our guns, and then take the fight to her decks. That fight will be the fight of our lives, make no mistake. But on the other side lies paradise. I’ll see you there.”

The men cheered and hastened their preparations as Flint ordered DeGroot to lay on.

Silver stayed standing on the lower gun deck and watched Billy prep the gun crews and vanguard, knowing that Randall had been tucked into his hammock in the galley. She was equipped for a fight, same as any of the other men, with her new knife on her belt, her quiver on her thigh and her bow across her chest. As the men moved around her, several patted her head and gripped her shoulder; a show of solidarity or a quiet bid for good luck, she wasn’t sure and wouldn’t ask, but she gave them each a nod and a smile nonetheless.

And then it was still. As still as it could be while riding the rolling deck of a ship doing five knots along the coast, waiting for the men’s first glimpse at their prey. And when the bay was fully within view and no Spanish galleon was within sight the men… didn’t know what to do.

Silver ducked her head, furiously thinking.

* * *

_“It starts,” Flint began. “With the death of their albatross. Their hopes dashed and their way lost.”_

* * *

Silver knew from the falling of his face that the _Urca_ wasn’t anchored in the bay. She didn’t need to hear his demand to check their position for DeGroot’s reassurances that they were where she was supposed to be. Either the _Urca_ wasn’t here because something had gone wrong, or Silver had her information wrong.

Since she was six years old she’d never recited something she’d read _wrong._ So where was the _Urca?_ And why wasn’t she here?

* * *

_“With the dead body of the albatross an anchor around the Mariner’s neck, they weather storms that drive them to the edge of the world and into the Otherworld beyond the Sea, by paths that mortals seldom sail and borne with biting breath as might of death across the grey and long forsaken seas distressed.” *2 His voice took on the cadence of recitation and Silver was entranced._

* * *

Silver barely listened to the grumbling of the men or Flint’s arguments with Gates and DeGroot. When Billy quietly asked her if she gave the right information, she merely glared at him. She hadn’t been wrong; this was the _Urca’s_ course. But had they changed course at the last minute? Been waylaid before they’d left port? Was the schedule written down in and English Captain’s log a decoy?

Yet even as she thought of each question, she shook it off. Flint was too meticulous to rely solely on rumor and hearsay; he had spies in Havana, he knew when the _Urca_ left, it’s why they’d rushed to careen the _Walrus_ as they had. And it was why the men decided vote on whether or not to give him the two days he’d asked for to prove the _Urca_ was here.

Silver stayed quiet in the background despite the questioning looks given to her by more than a few of them.

* * *

_“Through the always night they foundered onto shores that drowned before the days began, until the Mariner heard music from the where the world ends. Lost all his crew but the bird about his throat, he saw a mountain rise where twilight loomed, before him and the only way beyond the sea. Only through the mountain would the wanderer find a haven green and fair.”_

* * *

Silver could only watch helplessly as the men decided to give Flint his two days. She could tell that DeGroot was turning suspicious from the nasty looks he gave her, and that both she and Flint were running out of time the way DeGroot, Dufresne and Gates took council together. When Billy went to intervene she didn’t even bother cautioning him.

The feeling on board was antsy at best, crawling stinging anticipation at worst, and she could do nothing to mitigate their fears or waylay their discouragement. If not here now then they must have just missed her. Only time would tell whether the _Urca_ was near enough for them to catch up and claim it. And it was near, she knew. It had to be. Perhaps if not for the storm they would have gotten here in time-

Silver froze, her eyes widening. That gods-be-damned storm!

“Sails!” Logan cried, his glass fully extended as he stood on the poop deck where he’d been signaling the Ranger. “Due south!”

Gates pulled away from Billy and shrugged of DeGroot’s hand to ask what was on every man’s mind. “Is it the _Urca?”_

“Man o’ War!” Logan cried, the fear in his voice rousing the men. “She’s a Man o’ War! Spanish banners!”

“Get orders to the _Ranger;_ tell her to raise the black and fire two shots over our bow.” Flint was quick to order and his certainty fed the men courage. Their Captain knew what to do. “Mister DeGroot! Rig a spring to the forward anchor and then drop anchor immediately.”

“Drop anchor?” DeGroot’s voice was incredulous. “You mean to fight them?”

“You have your orders!” Gates snarled before slapping something against Dufresne’s chest, staring DeGroot down and then practically frog-marching their captain to his quarters for a private chat.

Silver didn’t like the way that entire thing looked and she had a bad feeling about that conversation in the Captain’s quarters and, from the way Billy nearly blocked her path as he headed the same way, so did he.

The men jumped to and the anchor dropped.

* * *

_“He tarried in that place between, listening to the melodies they taught to him, and sages old him marvels told, and clothed himself fearless and mighty in the hidden land forlorn he went. He came unto timeless halls where shining fall the countless years and endless reign of the Elder King on the Mountain, beyond the world were visions showed forbid to those that dwell therein.”_

_Silver gaped at him. “You actually have this dribble memorized? On purpose?”_

_Flint threw his head back and laughed._

* * *

Silver followed Billy to the Captain’s cabin only to nearly walk into his back when he stopped just passed the door. His face was bleached white and his pupils constricted with shock. When she turned her head to spy Flint pointing a cocked pistol at them, Gates’ limp body in his lap, she understood why. She shoved Billy forward and turned and locked the door behind them. When she turned back to the frozen tableau it was to see Flint pointing the gun at Billy. She raised her hands but kept her palms out to show she meant no threat and stepped forward to pull Flint’s attention to her and off Billy.

“I came to lend credence to your case that the _Urca_ was still to be won,” Silver started, noting carefully that though Flint was fully feral, claws and fangs out in a threat display and eyes burning the bright orange-red of dying coals, there wasn’t blood sprayed all over. Flint hadn’t attacked Gates in his instincts then; he’d known precisely what he was doing. It was only their sudden appearance that had pushed the man beyond his iron control.  
Flint finally dropped the pistol and Silver moved to check Gates’ body.

“What the fuck are you doing to him?” Flint’s voice broke on the third word, telling Silver clearly just how close to the edge of his tenuous control he was flying.

“Making sure there’s nothing incriminating-”

“Stop.” Flint flinched, shoving her hands away. “Stop! There’s no way out of this.”

Silver sat back on her heels, glancing between the two and taking in their mirrored resigned looks. She understood; they believed the crew would brand them murderer and have them hanged – and they’d be right to. And had she not been raised as she had, surrounded by men and women who continually told themselves lies to make right their habit of murdering men, women _and children_ simply because they were different, she might have given in to inevitability a long time ago.

“Take it from me,” she swallowed back bile at the memory of just how much blood was on her hands. “There’s always a way.”

* * *

_“There’s a cadence to the words and rhyme if you listen for it,” Flint explained after gaining control of his mirth. “It made it particularly easy to commit the story to memory when I was younger.”_

_Silver had difficultly swallowing past her suddenly dry throat, so it took her a minute to respond to that. “Show me.”_

_And Flint’s low voice lent particular credence to the difficulties faced by the Ancient Mariner as it rose and fell in gravel lilt. “Beaten and broken and without his men, he built himself a ship anew; no oar nor sail she bore though, only a lantern light and banner bright with living flame to gleam thereon. For with the wing immortal made for him from the albatross, a weight he carried willingly, and laid on him undying doom, to sail the shoreless skies and come behind the Sun and light of Moon.”_

* * *

Flint straightened after laying Gates down and took a step toward Billy only to top at his utterly emotionless voice.

“Did you kill him?”

Flint swallowed. “This was not what I wanted.”

“Did you _kill_ him?”

This time Flint gave Billy the courtesy of answering honestly, “He gave me no choice.”

Billy turned his head and the cool blue of his _other_ eyes shocked the both of them still. “When this is over I’m done with you.”

Flint stared for a moment before giving him a slight nod.

“Go find the _Urca_ and win us that gold so that _your friend,”_ Billy snarled, loosing control of his change for a moment, all the while ignoring the tears that streamed down his cheeks. “Didn’t die in vain.”

Flint went.

When Billy finally moved it was like watching a stone statue crack and break apart as it moved. He broke down kneeling next to Gates, hiding his sobs as he bent over the man, curving his shoulders to prevent the sounds of his grief loose.

“Billy,” Silver started forward.

“No,” Billy shook.

“Billy,” she bent and grabbed his shoulder.

He uncurled with a heaving jerk and lunged toward her, blue eyes blazing grief turned rage and chin wobbling, throwing tears. “Not _now!”_ he snarled, shifted fangs lending credence to his lack of control.

But Silver had never let fear back her down. “Yes, now!” she barked, marginally pleased when the command in her tone backed him down from his transformation. “For if not now, when? You’re their boatswain, and without a quartermaster, they will look to you to speak for them.”

At that moment Dufresne barged into the cabin and stopped dead at the sight of Gates laid out on the floor, Billy hunched over him, his grief easy to see.

Silver used the man’s momentary shock to gain both their attention. “The question you both need to ask yourselves is ‘what good can I do?’ You can call this murder; most of the men might even believe you but would that be enough to stop this fight that is about to happen? And should you deprive the men of a prize that has been bought at such a dear price? Because if it’s not, the fight we might win becomes a battle we are doomed to lose because the men went into it infected with your suspicions, with your doubts. So, Misters Boatswain and Dufresne, is that truly what’s in their best interests?”

Billy stayed quiet. Dufresne, on the other hand, met her gaze with defiance.

“So what do you suggest?”

* * *

_“From lofty hills where softly silver fountains fall his wings him bore, a wandering light, beyond the mighty Mountain Wall. From a World’s End there he turned away, and yearned again to find afar his home through shadows journey, and burning as an island star on high above the mists he came, a distant flame before the Sun, a wonder ere the waking dawn where grey the Northland waters run.”_

* * *

The Spanish Man of War was nearly twice the size of the _Walrus,_ with more than twice her guns. Doing nothing as she slid up alongside was harrowing enough for the men to face, and drove home the desperate situation they found themselves in. But pirates weren’t nothing if not men who took risks daily, the greater the risk the better. With the vanguard down out of sight on the lower gun deck and the only visible crew the least disreputable, the pirate ship could withstand the brief scrutiny of a Spanish escort, but not the in depth scrutiny of the Spanish _Guarda Costa_ that would undoubtedly board them looking to levy heavy fines in the form of bribes for their trouble. At least, that’s what Dufresne explained when he put forth their plan.

Flint crouched at the rail, his head out of sight as Silver, divested of her bow and arrows, waved for the attention of the Spanish captain. “Why am I the one doing this again?”

“You’re the only one who can speak Castilian Spanish without a West Indies accent.”

Silver grimaced, regretting offering her services when asked, and then shouted about the pirates getting away. When the _capitán_ asked about their ship she was only marginally surprised by Flint’s answer. Dufresne wanted to play it safe, telling them they were anything but a tobacco trader would assure them of that marginal safety. But Flint wanted to prove to the men that the Man o’ War was in escort, looking for the _Urca_ just as they were. And when the Spanish ship ignored the fact that they were tobacco trader’s, the entire crew knew that Flint was right.

“All hands to their stations,” Flint commanded. “Quietly, if you please. Three hundred yards and we open fire.”

Silver ducked back below as Flint worked the men and the ship to his satisfaction, careful to keep within sight of Dufresne. Billy still hadn’t emerged from the Captain’s cabin. Though none of the crew could fault him for it, Silver feared that things would slip out of control if he weren’t here to bolster the men’s certainty and diffuse the situation quickly developing between DeGroot and Dufresne. But there was a moment when she checked the galley entrance for Randall, when she looked again to the quarterdeck for Billy, as Logan called out one hundred yards, two hundred, when she lost sight of the ship’s sailing master and Dufresne suddenly called out the Captain, stilling the men in their tracks because he was pointing a pistol at him.

“As we have no quartermaster, it falls to me to accuse you of tyrannical crimes against your crew.”

Flint looked at him incredulously, before turning to the men. “All crews; fire!”

“Belay that order!” Dufresne cried, quelling the men as he tugged on their ever-changing loyalties. Mutters of “ _Where’s Billy?_ ” were heard throughout the men, and some even glanced her way as though waiting for her.

Silver lunged to intervene only to be confronted by DeGroot holding a pistol in her face. She saw several men stumble back at the sight, but none stepped forward and she didn’t know enough about DeGroot’s abilities to know whether or not he was a good shot.

The older man saw her capitulation and sneered, “Your duties as a member of this crew have reached an end. Take a seat.”

Silver sat.

And though her attention was on the man before her and the pistol aimed at her, she caught snatches of Dufresne’s diatribe against the captain. “-beginning with the murders of Mister Singleton and Mister Gates.” His voice rose with conviction the longer no one interrupted him. She wondered at his sudden confidence; how did the mild bookkeeper turn into the dauntless mutineer?

She looked at DeGroot, “What exactly to you hope to accomplish by doing this?”

“In your case Mister Silver; justice. Once Mister Dufresne exposes Flint's lies in their totality, the crew are going to want answers from you, too.”

Down on the gun deck, she could see Dufresne holding a folded parchment in his hand and waving it around like a Letter of Mark, “-Mister Gates confessing his knowledge and complicity in the Captain’s myriad crimes-”

“We’re going to lose them!” Flint barked, his desperation rising. “We don’t have time for this.”

Two things happened simultaneously; the door to the Captain’s cabin behind her opened, bringing the men’s heads up in surprise, and Randall bashed DeGroot over the head with his iron foot. When DeGroot dropped to the ground, Silver gaped at Randall who stared back. “You’re welcome.”

Silver grinned at him and stood to see Billy descend the stair to the lower gun deck toward Dufresne, who didn’t seem to be able to sense the menace coming off the young man. But Silver could, and judging by the way the captain watched the younger man warily, Flint could, too.

“Dufresne raises a valid concern,” Billy called out, coming to a stop just in front of the bookkeeper. “Unfortunately, now is not the time.” Then he turned and punched Dufresne, knocking the man to the ground. The men jumped back in surprise and watched as Billy kicked Dufresne in the head, silencing him for the time being. “Anybody else got a valid concern they would like to raise?” Billy barked at the men before spinning to point at Flint. “While we are in battle the Captain’s orders are law. That is what we signed up to! That is what Gates taught us! After this battle’s won, when we are back on land, we can give the man the trial Dufresne thinks he deserves, _like civilized men!_ But now the order’s been given. Heed it! All crews; _fire!”_

* * *

_“And over the Earth he passed and heard at last the weeping of women and maids. But on him mighty doom was laid, till Moon should fade, and star to pass, and tarry never more on Hither Shores where Mortals are; for ever still a herald on an errand that should never rest to bear his shining lamp afar, the brightness of the morning star.”_

_“What does it all that mean, Captain?”_

_“It means that everything is a choice.”_

* * *

Silver didn’t really piece it all together until hours later with the help of Billy, Dufresne, Logan and Muldoon’s heated exchanges over the decisions made and who was at fault for what. What she understood very quickly was this: A single cannon would usually be manned by two gunners, six powder and shot men, and four men to heave the cannon into position after each firing. Regimented crews could typically fire cannon at an average of four times per minute.

The _Walrus_ made do with gun crews of no more than three men; one to guide the cannon into position and fire it, two to wash the barrel clear of smoldering debris then pack the powder and shot down, and all three to heave the heavy gun forward on it’s wheels. Flint regularly put the crew through practice runs until the men were covered in gleaming sweat and beginning to drop. Billy was particularly proud of getting their shot time to within one or two times per minute.

The pirate ship boasted at total of thirty guns; twelve on either broadside, and two in the bow and four in the stern. Which meant that as soon as the _Walrus_ and the _Ranger_ opened fire on the Spanish Man of War they shot out only one hundred and thirty cannon balls into the water, hull and along the deck before the armored frigate had turned enough to bring her broadsides to bear. Then, in the next minute alone, both the pirate ships were bombarded with nearly two hundred cannon balls each.

* * *

_“You just told me a story about a man who was forced to wander the underworld, lost his crew and ship, fought his way back to the land beyond, built another ship using the wings of the bird he was forced to carry, and was then forced to sail in the sky forever as the morning star. And the moral is that he made that choice?”_

_“There’s always a choice.”_

_“What choice did your ancient mariner have beyond ‘do or do not shoot the bird’?”_

_“He could have chosen to give up.”_

* * *

A cacophony of explosions, screaming and smoke distorted the damage done, but a few things were made very obvious. The _Ranger_ was sunk; their powder magazine had been hit, causing a catastrophic explosion mid-ship. The Walrus was no longer sea-worthy, it was obvious in the way she listed badly to port and groaned around them like a dying thing. Her mizzen mast had been struck, the canvas and rigging falling into the sea, and enough holes were blasted in her hull that she would sink if nothing was done. Amidst the confusion, Silver had looked for three men, and three men only; Randall, who had been huddling in the doorway of the galley and appeared safe enough for the moment; Billy, who was rallying the men and pushing them to pull every bit of wind and wood available to save them from the bottom; and Flint, who had been blasted into the sea and didn’t look to be coming back up. She didn’t realize she’d lunged for the rails until she started to climb over them.

“Silver!”

She twisted around and met Billy’s bright blue gaze – and she knew in that moment that he’d just lost a father, been betrayed by a brother, and by circumstance or providence he looked at her like she was his only guiding light – and shouted, “Save the ship, Billy! Then send the longboats for the men! I’ll keep them until you come!”

And then she dove over the side, this time with a bit more grace, slammed into the water, and swam down toward the sinking figure of Flint.

He was twenty feet down and sinking fast by the time she caught his shoulder. She heaved upwards, and kicked hard, pulling with one arm and feeling the heavy drag on her other as she stretched toward the surface that seemed to be getting further away instead of closer. Aiming for an open space clear of rigging and splashing men, it seemed like eons but was probably only a little over two minutes until she breached the surface and gasped in a burning lungful of air. Twisting, she grabbed his face and exhaled into his mouth, knowing that he’d been down longer than she and was still unresponsive. Exhaling meant she had no buoyancy, and they both dropped below the surface again. She kicked hard and started pulling his jacket and sword belt off, not caring if they sank fathoms down with the cannon and rope quickly dragging down the yards of canvas all around them. She spun in the water and spied a floating piece of debris. With that braced under her shoulders to help keep them both afloat, she pulled Flint until his back was to her front and his head was cradled in her elbow.

She breathed for him twice more before he sputtered, sucked in a watery breath and then exhaled half the sea. She panted and clung to the broken rail, not enough breath to even curse as Flint choked and spit and breathed beside her.

As soon as her worry for Flint faded, she looked around and noticed a number of men in the water. Most, like her, had grasped onto anything that floated, careful to stay free of the rigging and sail that would eventually be dragged down. The _Walrus_ was several hundred yards away and limping toward the shore slowly. The cannon fire from the Spanish Man of War had ceased, but a dense fog of gunpowder and smoke covered the waves such that she couldn’t see. It was probably the only thing that protected her and the men from the Spanish finishing them off in the war with long guns. Nearest to her was a man named Crisp, who despite having dark skin looked ghastly pale and panted with more than just exertion. The whites of his eyes were showing and she was grateful for the few yards between them because a panicked man could drown his fellows without meaning to.

“Crisp,” she called. “You’re all right. Can you swim toward me? Don’t let go of your float just kick your legs. Come on, Crisp. There you go.” She repeated herself several times, noticing that with each repetition, his eyes focused a little more and he started to respond. By the time he got to her, she could hear more of the men paddling her way, calling out for voice so they could find their way in the heavy fog. Before long she’d gathered six men in various stages of injury and shock and they’d cobbled together enough of the damaged rigging that no one need tread water to stay afloat. What goods there were that floated around them, Flint swum out ot collect once he’d gotten his wind back, dragging two barrels and several water-tight crates that held foodstuffs in to be tied to the float. All the while she treated what injuries she could and soothed the men’s shock and fear with her quiet surety. “Billy is coming back for us. He’ll send the longboats. He won’t forget, we just have to wait.”

For all but one, she was sure they could last. But Oates, one of the gunners had been too close when the deck had exploded in front of him; he’d lost his left hand and a good portion of his forearm. Silver was surprised he hadn’t died already, but his bunkmate Palmer had jumped in after Oates and used his own shirt as a tourniquet at the elbow. The grisly shine of bone was occasionally washed in garish red, but his arm was only bleeding not spurting.

“Keep it above his heart,” Silver advised when Palmer looked at her as though she could supply his salvation by saving his friend. “Don’t care how tired he gets, as long as he’s breathing and doesn’t give into shock or the wet, there’s a chance.”

They heaved Oates on top of the float without even bothering to put it to a vote.

Throughout it all, Flint stayed quiet and watchful, helping her where he could but remaining wary of a crew that had nearly mutinied.

It was three hours before they heard the slap of oars in water, but it came from the wrong direction. There had been nearly six hundred yards between the _Walrus_ and the _Ranger,_ and when the latter had gone down, she’d gone quick. Silver hoped for survivors, but expected none so it was a pleasant surprise when two longboats nearly slid past them.

“Here!” Flint called, the first word he’d said in hours. He lunged toward the two boats, dragging a line of rope with him. “There’s men here in the water!”

The five able-bodied with her nearly lunged for the boats but Silver cautioned them back. “If they don’t have room they might shoot you to keep from capsizing. Wait.”

“Wait for what?” Vincent, one of the riggers snarled. “Wait for Flint to betray us again?”

Silver nearly lunged for him. She did bare her teeth at him and hissed, “You think I’d _let_ him?”

She heard one of the men utter _“Albatross,”_ and another _“Wix.”_ It was enough to get the men to hesitate, and that was all Flint needed.

“Swim men!” Flint called, “Push! Get Oates in the second boat!” and then the rope he’d dragged with him gave a strong pull and the float they’d cobbled together moved.

Two longboats were made for a max capacity of eight men but capable of seating twelve in a pinch as long as the seas and men were calm. With the addition of the _Walrus’_ eight, only eighteen seats were needed. It was a disheartening number, though she was pleased to see that Vane, Rackham and Bonny had survived, and even more pleased to note that Hammond had not.

It was a subdued group that rowed the several thousand yards to shore. Oates and Palmer were in the second boat, along with Crisp and Williamson, the man who’d called her a ‘wix.’ It was an old world term and one she hadn’t heard in a while, but judging by his first name, Sean, and the fact that he’d handed over a knife to her just because it’d been readily available, spoke of his home likely being Ireland. She and Flint went into the first boat, along with Vincent, who she made sure sat within her view.

No one talked until they came into view of the very bay they expected to find the _Urca,_ and a call went up on the shore; a shore that held a grounded _Walrus_ and a number of longboats that _weren’t moving._

Silver nearly snarled, “What the fuck.”

Flint gave her a look. He knew she’d been telling the men that Billy would come for them but here was evidence that in the four hours they’d been on shore, not one ship had been launched for their rescue.

Only a handful of the men on shore came for the boats to help pull them in, Billy among them.

“Before you bark at me,” Billy started, seeing the look on Silver’s face and ignoring the smirks on both Vane’s and Flint’s. “They wouldn’t let me row out to get you.”

The men helped Oates up and half carried him to where Dr. Howell had set up the first tent to tent to the many injured.

Silver gritted her teeth to hold back what she’d been going to say. “What do you mean ‘they wouldn’t let you’?”

“Dufresne is calling for a vote. He pulled out the letter that Gates wrote and is demanding the men charge all three of us with provoking this mess.”

“More morale problems?” Vane smirked.

Billy, in a show of surprising strength, knocked Vane flat with one punch to his jaw. “If you and Rackham hadn’t provoked Singleton into challenging the Captain so you could gain men from the Walrus none of this would be happening right now.”

Vane stood, the ready violence apparent in the way he stalked up to Billy. “You get one, pup.”

“I’m not your pup,” Billy snarled, only held back by the quick hand of Flint on his chest. Then he shook off Flint and stalked away.

Silver eyed him with keen interest because she knew what neither captain seemed aware of; Billy hadn’t been angry until that last. That had been calculated, and it had done it’s work; the men were eyeing Vane and the survivors of the _Ranger_ with distrust and looking at Flint with new eyes. If Vane had any idea of taking over now that Flint had been officially deposed, there was no chance the man would agree to it.

Rackham and Bonny finally joined their little group, keen eyes following the strong back of Billy as he stalked away. “What did you do?”

The question was for Vane, but Flint answered. “I killed Gates.”

Several heads snapped toward him, the most disbelieving being Vane and Rackham themselves.

“The fuck?” Vane blurted.

Rackham was more eloquent. “Why atop God’s blue sea would you kill your First Mate and friend of ten years?”

Flint crossed his arms and glanced at Silver. “Because he wanted to run as soon as the Spanish ship passed us.”

“But that would have left us to their tender mercies,” Rackham gaped.

Flint nodded.

And just like that Silver understood. With one simple sentence, Billy had turned Flint’s crew against Vane. And with a second, Flint had turned Vane’s crew toward him and explained his murderous actions as being justified. It was a master stroke and Silver could only marvel inwardly because it garnered her captain a bit more support against Dufresne. Despite the mentality of ‘ _every man for themselves!_ ’ pirates were surprisingly democratic in their actions and protective toward the brotherhood. In reality a pirate was only a pirate to men who were not pirates, and any man who turned their backs on their brothers was a man who was sure regret that decision.

Before anything else could be said and done, runners from the north appeared and a call went out. And Silver remembered. As the group walked toward Dufresne and the runner to hear the news, Silver sidled closer to Flint. When he gave her a sideways glare, she smirked at him. “I told you I was certain about my information regarding the _Urca?”_

Several of the men were close enough to overhear her words, including Vincent, who was decidedly against Flint but wary of her ‘unnatural’ powers.

Flint stopped when the shout of _“Gold!”_ went up among the men and then gave her a sharp look.

She smiled. “Unfortunately you and I failed to account for the weather.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Summary from _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ by Samuel Taylor Coleridge  
> 2\. Verses completely butchered to suit my needs from the _Song of Eärendil_ by J.R.R. Tolkein

**Author's Note:**

> Only not really. Just the end of the first season. How'd I do so far?


End file.
